Look how you are breaking my heart

Look how you are
breaking my heart,
Look how you have got me
all muddled up inside.
And what coincidence to have
"Lovers in Paris" start
playing from my playlist;
a sign from the universe
to let you go or to keep you?
I have to give it to you
for doing it in the most
delicious way.

What is a girl to do?

A sickness pervades my being,
I can feel your absence spreading
through my blood, slowly, pain-
stakingly meandering its way
to my heart, even the air that I
breathe hangs heavy and contorted,
suspended in its wake because
you are not around, this sickness
wounds its way to my wrist which
you last held, your touch is
imprinted in my bones.
I can trace the onset of this illness
from my lips which you last kissed,
its aftertaste still strong in my mouth.
My heart is full of you,
what is a girl to do?

Look how we have disassembled each other

I don't want to love you
if I can't be with you.
It's as simple and complicated
as that, because I don't want to
carry this ache around with me;
this irrational illogical desire
for you, I don't want you
just as forbidden fruit,
I want you accessible, real.
You say you love me,
and I am in love with you
but is that the same thing?
But to say it would be
sending it out to the universe,
to say it would be making
a promise and I don't want to
make promises I can't keep.
How did we get here, you and I,
so soon so fast, would it last?
Look how we have utterly
disassembled each other.

Look what you have done.

How did we get here,
you and I?
You, with your infectious laughter,
carrying an air of being at home
anywhere in the world.
And I, who smiled for the first
time when we met after
 a year of sulking around.
You, with your terrible jokes
that make my stomach ache,
the easiness with which you
hold my attention, my hand, my mouth
And I, with my acute awkwardness
at anything to do with feelings,
and my obsessive desire to kiss you,
as persistant as a toothache.
So there I was
being perfectly miserable but now
you have changed everything.
Because here I am,
missing you and longing for you;
not even a bearable once-in-a-while
thing, but this awful reminder
of your absence, like a sickness.
Look what you have done.

A thing of wonder

It feels strange to be so utterly
happy and contended when I am
with you, as though the world has
been set right somehow, stranger still
because we both know it isn't so, not
in this place we call home shimmering
with discontent and misgivings.
But I forget that when I am with you,
I can only think of your hands
holding mine and how it falls
perfectly into place, and that I want
to kiss you everytime I look at you,
sometimes I don't even care if
people are looking or judging.
When I am with you, I could
sit for hours and we don't even have
to be talking and I would still
be smiling to myself counting the
black dots on your hands, and suddenly
the most mundane matters of existence
would become a thing of wonder.

Is this the life you wanted?

Always this reticent heart

trying to retreat into itself,

Always this doubt when it comes

to loving, being loved.

Life is happening too fast,

too soon, how do you get a

grip on it? You are accustomed

to life moving slowly, all you

wanted was to write and have

a house by the sea; but what 

I have now holding in the palm

of my hands, this terrible beauty

you and I, this bewildering

 transition in my life and 

here I am asking myself-

Is this the life you wanted?

Light- headedness

You are getting to me, I can tell

 because I can barely stop thinking 

about kissing you, barely contain

this light-headedness I feel around 

you, and I am thinking when

 will I get to see you next, 

and I am thinking even though

 I burnt my tongue drinking coffee

 due to sheer giddiness the last time

I was with you, it is as though 

I am back to being a sixteen 

year old and this is happening

for the first time.

Semiotics

Our goodbyes aren't punctuated

 by hugs, but with an awkward 

detachment hanging midair;

You, with caution,

I, with propriety in mind.

because the air between us feels

so tense that I am conscious

of even the slightest of movements.

I laughed so much last night

when you mentioned that

I might be averse to hugs

because you don't know the half of it

and I am not sure I am willing 

to tell you; and if I sent you a poem

would it confuse you further?