Since You Left

 I was thinking about you.


This room was thinking about you.

This bed still thinks about you.


Every night punishes me for your absence,

every dawn waits for you beside me—

but you never come.


The day you left, darkness took this room,

and it never left.

The curtains hang heavy with your memory.

The doors you closed have not opened since.


I have not felt sunlight, not really,

since you were here, letting it fall across our bed.

I have not felt the wind, not truly,

since your hand held mine, letting it pass between our fingers.

Now the wind avoids me.

Now the air is empty.


I still smell your scent from sixteen years ago,

but nothing else since.


Where are you?

I can’t feel myself without you.


I am waiting for you—

since that night, 1999, 11:09 PM,

when you left, and the clock kept ticking,

and the air stayed still.


I have grown old in this waiting,

the scent of my aging body filling this room,

this bed, this air.


I am waiting for you, my darling.


Don’t let this hope stand alone forever.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Room Where I Wait

I sit in a room where nothing moves — except my breath and a small memory that knocks like a stranger. The fan hums like a prayer I never learned. The walls don’t talk, but they listen. More than anyone ever did. I don’t cry. I just sit. Like I’ve always done. Like the chair knows me better than my own hands. Some days, I think the light left me. But then a soft breeze touches my face and reminds me — I’m still here. I’m still here.
Read more

VOID

 Empty. Empty of mind. Empty of heart. Empty of everything. There’s nothing left in me. I want someone — anyone — to fill my heart with feeling. Any feeling. It doesn’t matter what kind. I just don’t want to feel… Empty. Because this emptiness reminds me — I’m not alone. I’m lonely. I walk through the dark night of this world, searching for something to hold. My hands — empty. Maybe there’s a torch in them. Maybe there’s a thought in my head. Maybe. Maybe. But I don’t feel it. I don’t see it. My mind — void. My heart — hollow. I stare at my book. My own heart, written across pages. Feelings live there — but not in me. I tear the pages. One by one. They remind me: ache. pain. memory. The paper makes a sound, like it wants to speak. But my heart doesn’t listen. My mind doesn’t care. I rip every page. Now, only nine white pages remain. And in my hand — a black pen. I grip it tightly. And I scribble: VOID.
Read more

"Look Into Your Soul, Ravi "

RAVI — LOOK INTO YOUR SOUL. Look into your mind.   Look into the veins that carry your blood.   Look at the life you're living.   Look at where you are.   What do you want?   Where do you want to go?   What do you want to create?   Ravi — every question leads to one truth:   You want to write.  You want to become a storyteller.   You want to show the world how you see it — raw, unfiltered, unapologetic.   One bad day, one downfall, won’t collapse your dream.   You’re too sensitive, yes — but that’s what makes you powerful.   You live in a dark room — but that room shaped you, carved you into this.   You’re not alone.   Look at the moon — it’s alone, but it still shines.   Look at the rising sun — it rises alone, but it still illuminates the world.   Nothing will stop you.   You think differently. You see differentl...
Read more