Yesterday, your face was at the back of my hand – it was like clockwork.
Today. Your face vanished. I.
We talked about the future with both our footprints in it but we forgot that footprints are easily washed away by the tides of time. Our love was supposed to be all abiding; now it is a vision of hurting haze and moody grey skies. My face is touched by no one, my hand touches nothing. They say that love is a choice – in all honesty, I agree – but they don’t tell you that love sometimes drowns you while you are trying to stay afloat. Love is a choice of survival. And here we are, at the end of it all, one love story amongst the millions that have been undone, painfully, inadequately unsaid.
Yesterday, our love was an epic.
Today our love is fiction.
– For PJ.