she's not the same she was two days ago, she's in love with her new idea of love. it's all about shaky hands taking dim hazy pictures, shadows against blobs of lights, all creating a feeling of mesmerising melancholy; isolation and disorientation.
she thinks to herself 'our story would give everyone a heartache. it might be happy-sappy or it might end in pillow wetting tears. it might leave everyone dancing to loud music or sitting alone at bars but it will leave everyone changed. it might give hope or it might just give more yearning', all the while lying in her bed in utter dark watching lights, of the cars passing by on the street, create visuals on her ceiling. (that one song on repeat in her mind which she can't even translate).
On a hustling evening, I will again meet you as a love churned into art, you would still look at me as if I'm your biggest maybe Your eyes would still hold a tint of confusion and that my dear is the reason I turned into art. You left my pockets full of topics to write about and a stomach which will never get hungry due to lack of metaphors but what about this heart.
What hurts me is that my sky wasn't meant to be shared with you.