Three Years

Three times in three years.

Therefore according to the math, every year, there comes one such time when my heart bounces right out of my chest seeing your name flash on my phone screen. However, as soon as I swipe to the right and your voice reaches my ears, my storms calm down. My hurricanes die, my demons are put to rest.

You are like aroma therapy for my soul. Every word out of your mouth is soothing.
I am able to escape the clutches of stress and dip my feet into the warm waves of memories washing against the bank of my mind.
The adorable nicknames.
The song dedications.
The unconditional love.
The dreams of becoming one.
The long distance.
The intimacy.
The chemistry.
One by one, every single element of our bond, runs through my head like a movie on fast forward.

You are no longer the one I can rightfully call mine, but the idea of it brings a tingling sensation to this day, a sensation that runs through my entire body like current, sparking life into every inch of me.

As you speak of your new life in a town one hour from mine, I wonder if I will ever be able to witness you do the things you talk about. They say it’s a small world, but I still wonder if our paths would ever cross. They haven’t, so far.

As we converse, I always wonder if it would be appropriate to question if there has been a replacement; if someone else now sits on the throne situated in your heart or is the throne still vacant, waiting eagerly for me to return and fill it again.

Time flies, my mother says, and whenever you are on the other end of the line, she is proved right. All the theories of physics, of time and sun and stars are defied in one go. In a second, forty minutes pass and I am left feeling helpless!
I can’t tell you to stay.
I don’t want to tell you to leave.
All I can do, is Whisper my feelings into the phone just softly enough for them to not be able to cross the line and get to you.

Ah, love.
What a beautiful mess.

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Messed up

“Am I a bad girl?”, I had asked.
“No” he had said as in the sun we basked.
I knew his answer was a white lie,
I could see otherwise in his brown eye.

I was a bad girl, and I was aware,
I was messed up, boy; you better beware.
But he still always took me in his embrace,
Causing tears in my eyes to run down my face.

I smiled later, but he could comprehend,
I was a broken vase he was unable to mend.
Because he could attempt to wipe my tear,
But what about the insecurity of losing my dear?