Not a dedication-1

Getting over you was difficult. That is an understatement! How would you feel if I had affected you so much that even simple things caused you pain? When you look into a mirror and find that everything that I loved about you, the things you can never change, are going to make you hate yourself! Because that is exactly what you did to me. Do you know how many songs remind me of you? I have no idea why I still keep one of those many tunes on my phone when I know I will never hit the play button for it. Has anything of the kind ever happened to you because of me? I wonder if all those places we visited remind you of the times we spent together and haunt you as much as they haunt me. I guess not! Because I walk through the same places everyday and even the slightest noise disturbs me when I am alone, thinking it could be you. But I don’t turn around because if it is indeed you, what would I do?
Whose choice was it to leave anyway? Yours or mine? How is it that I don’t remember just that, when clearly, the universe works only to remind me of you and your smile. And why, why did we have to make so many memories that were so unique that forgetting you became impossible? Just when I thought I was completely cured of you, why did the sound of your name split my soul into two? Were we that special that you could exist like an undying spark that can give rise to fireworks in my heart even after all these years? And when my eyes meet yours again, why do they choose to settle, ignoring all the hurt and lies that accompany your love, knowing how capable you and I are of crippling each other, I wonder.
Does a face similar to mine drive you insane? Can you see someone else with possesions similar to what I once had and not ache inside? Have you thought of finding a person just like me and realised you could never replace me? Because if you did, teach me how. Since, even though I say I am over you, maybe there is a part of me that is looking for an otherwise. A possibility exists that my mind will never be completely deprived of your thoughts. And if you know how to make that happen, tell me and leave. In the complete sense. Without a trace of your existence. As if we had never met.

The end of February
A rain in the evening
A sign of melancholy
I doubt it will bring
A touch of your skin
Like a surge of electricity
Lightning and thunder
When you tell me I’m pretty
Bags packed to leave
But the rains keep you with me
And then you heave
A sigh of relief when it ends
The end of March
A rainy night
The trickle of raindrops
For sore eyes, a sight
Another end
But tomorrow has hope
When flowers are filled with dewdrops
I will finally let go

P.S. I wrote the poem a year ago so if it isn’t raining today at your place, well, it will be raining somewhere in the world, right?

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