Her hair reminded you of the starry night sky.
The ones you so graciously let yourself be engulfed by.
Her skin so soft that with a simple touch, the heart would swindle
As it gently trickled down thy chest causing an indescribable sensation.
Her smile, oh that smile across her face would cause the greatest
rupture in the hippocampus.
‘Oh what wouldn’t I give for her to be mine’,
Or so I said to myself looking upon a picture of hers, years ago.
And blaming luck for this misfortune, we finally met.
Friendly but vicious, was the first encounter.
The sort I crave for.
And just like that, with every meetup an infatuation instigated,
While being totally oblivious to the outcome of it.
Love was in the air, and you filled your lungs with it,
All the while exhaling away all the troubles on your mind.
And in doing so, you let your vulnerabilities soar.
But love wasn’t meant for you.
As she made a habit out of hunting for those insecurities.
Just as you were latching onto something new, reality sunk in as you were
being relieved of your post.
And all those efforts were just a fool’s errand, you were perfect no more.
You already became a fleeting memory of that not long ago past.
And that’s how it started, the art of dying while living.