It’s five in the morning, and I’m penning lines down, trying to recapture what we had in paper. Most love stories don’t have happy endings, and I’m beginning to realize that now. Once, the idealist in me thought we’d dance to the rhythm of strong passion forever, never missing a step. But looking back, I realize that we’ve stepped on each other’s toes way too often while we waltzed, and the only way out now is through the guilt and pain. I look outside the window and find the twilight capturing an aging bramble. It’s full of thorns and has seen the seasons of its life. I believe that we, like it, can’t be redeemed, and all that’s left is to stop pining over each other and move on, as hard as it may be, unless fate grants us a miracle.
It’s midnight and the words only come to thought because I won’t, can’t write them down. It’s too much, I want to be down with you, this, us. It’s all too much, I’m just tired. Tired of wishing it wasn’t this way, Tired of wishing it was worse, so then at least I’d have something more to complain and whine about. I can’t help but to feel it was meant to be this way, for the best, for the both of us. Because, that’s what my heart says, what my mind concluded, and what I need to be the reality of this. We were like the stars, those same one we talked so much to, the same ones that I look up when I need to be reminded of you. But like those stars we burned and burned, falling only to shatter and our pieces scattered in the wind. I can’t be tied down, neither can you, so let’s take a page from the stars that range free and beautiful and be remembered for what we created when we exploded in the sky.
© Nitin Lalit Murali and Kristen Corbisiero (2019)