Category : Poems

Sub Category : N/A

We are a mystery.
Ordinary,
but extraodinary.
All the way.
Some things can never be explained.
They would never understand
anyway.
You have seen me so many times.
And yes, you have seen me sitting on the steps.
You asked me if I'm okay.
But who told you my love,
that I cried in the shower
on that day?
That day that you walked down the aisle?
Has the clouds showered you with my tears?
Who told you what you never saw.
When you were never here?
How is it that you can feel
what I feel, exactly?
Like we have always been two halves of one story.
Like we were always meant to be?
Who has created this breathtaking mystery
of us?
And it's such irony
that you never let me write to you
since you left that day.
Yes, you made jokes about hiding me in your closet.
If you only knew.
I could have written to you,
Oh my love, I would have written so many times.
Pages that would have turned into books.
They would have been
too many to fit into your closet
or your trunk.
Even the biggest library could not
contain all my love for you.
Such irony 
that you never let me.
Such irony
that we found each other now, here.
Writing to each other.
Never stopping.
After all this time.
After all these years.
I could dry all my tears
and dance.
Yes, even in the rain.
Where have you been!?
Such irony.
It's like you never left.
When I was 17.

P.S. (Never ever delete the notes,
the letters.)