For months,
I have stopped writing because I don’t want your shadow to linger in my verses.
I don’t want my pen to shout for your name in the middle of my pages.
I don’t want your presence to be rejoiced in my lines.
I don’t want to hear your laughter in any of my rhymes
I don’t want my metaphor to be hugged by your assuring arms.
or be enchanted with your manly charms.
I don’t want my punctuations to mark your kisses and trace your edges.
I don’t want my letters to spell itself and reminisce how your eyes calm my senses.
I don’t want my persona to narrate how magical it felt when you kissed me under the stars, in between the walls.
and
how lost I was when you left and finally closed the door.
I don’t know when will I scribble again, or love the smell of the ink in my pen.
But for now,
Let me smell like beer and coil my self in the room with the silence of my healing and the echoes of your leaving.
