Rasasvaada

"Cold" The cold nights of winters bring me the gift of endless pain of the memoirs we shared. Every year I survive these winters... I waited at the threshold longing...yearning for your return but you never made your way back to "our" home. In my soul, I knew I contributed to the death of your love but I never knew how I suffocated you. I just cared too much. All I ever wanted was someone who could fill my heart & I always hoped I let her in, but these winds bring me back to the shackles of your treacherous self again & again. I told myself, "If this is heaven, I will still prefer your hell rather more." Though I believed, I will heal eventually... But for me, love has always been an omen. As my heart always bloomed into gold in your presence, turning my imperfections into some divine being, while you wore my poetry as your most profound possession. You became one yourself, the sheer beauty in motion, my poem. With this ma