#1
Here I am writing the thing I’m most afraid to write
Today I chanced upon your words in this worn out piece of paper
From the time you had written to me
In a hot summer eve in Bengal, while we footsied below the wooden table.
I quickly crumbled up the paper
Wanted to shy away of this very existence of your memory
Scared to start that familiar train of thoughts
Taking me down platforms black and white, complete with long talks, even longer walks.
I see you here and there, from one tab to the other
I see every muscle, every nuance, every new shirt
And I wish, oh I wish I could say slip in a few words, reach out
For it was and is my favorite part of what I had, we had, Beautiful. Unhurt.
All of it felt like this 2 min ad, between channels I didn’t notice to see
A sudden desire to haste through something I couldn’t point out
But now that I see your perfect cursives in this worn out piece of paper
It was only me, only me who couldn’t understand this part of me, this part of you;
I’d left ajar.
Sam.
