Unsent Epistles To Him

Painting by JarekPuczel

That summer evening under the street light
after we had talked about the music the café played,
the kind of books the bookstore had,
and how your lips dried,
and how my eyes twinkled
every time I lied about
not wanting to kiss you,
and you knowing the truth;
I told you how beautiful the evening was,
and after the settling sun has encountered
a gaze more brighter and intense than itself,
we went towards the station to catch our trains.
I held your hand, asking you to stay for a while,
and then wishing if we could stay there,
till the moon was up,
till I have tasted your favorite drink from your mouth,
till my neck has clasped you, and
till our light skins have been shadowed
by the softness of the moonlight;
but I could not have stayed for long, and you had to leave.
I did not tell you then, and you will never know
how the curve of your smile that evening had shaped my love,
and that my eyes had captured it,
and I still open that image through my mind into my heart, secretly.
We reached the platform and you went ahead for the hug
even after knowing that I give awkward hugs,
because you thought I get nervous around crowds;
however, like many other things that I slipped under
my smile, and hid while I tucked my hair behind my ear,
and few that I managed to drop in the ice tea and on the plate,
wishing you to catch them while I talked about the
lights outside the window looking at the roof lights of the café,
I managed to veil this behind my self-consciousness,
and to not let you know that it was the feeling of getting screwed
by the love that was filling the space between you and me.
The brakes hissed and screeched as the train slowed down;
it was time to board the train, and let my heart travel
in the never ending anticipation of your return.

Kritika Vashist

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