For the girl, you will love,

The pages of the calendar will turn and the frozen moments will melt under the grains of time when the sawdust of your extinct love will slowly engrave your tired body inch by inch.

Maybe then a fading glitter will pierce through that haze of incoming darkness. And you will dissolve in that shadow only to be found in the encrypted brightness of a new dawn in another universe.

And the first parabolic beam of that dawn will be she when you and I will be just two parallel lines traveling towards the infinite ends of the broken string.

In those vacant spaces of my unspoken words, she will now fit as the punctuations. She will walk past across the blue ruins in paints of red into the city of your terrorized thoughts. And you will meet her again in that Palace of illusions called Love.

The yellow pages stained with poems will again find you.

Under the moonless night, will you still search for me in the constellation of your midsummer nightmares? Or maybe her resurgent galaxies will capture you now.

Will my voice still be found in the linen of your bed sheet? Maybe the echoes of our broken promises die under her nascent fragrance.

What if parallel lines ever meet somewhere in oblivion? What if I prove Logic to be blatantly untruthful in front of Human Emotions?

But. The Cascades of reality.
Parallel lines never converge. Even infinity hasn’t witnessed it.

Sent to The Scribbled Stories by Ruchira Biswas

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