How long I ask how long does it take To forget about her and my mistakes To see the world without her in it To feel myself again and keep that candle lit
But how long does it take To forget about the way she puts her makeup on The way she touches lips and turns me on Her goofy laugh as she watches me put my clothes on Her warmth at the coldest of nights Her voice that guides me to the light Her embrace when we cuddle after a terrible fight
But it wasn't that long ago When I had watched her go Carried on her life without the thought of me My love for her was all I could ever see Six stages of grief From acceptance to confronting my own beliefs She stole my heart, cunning just like a thief But she broke it Into pieces All shattered Like I never had mattered
How long was it again? A week or two Months which flew Years that past Decades that ought to go fast And I sit here under the moon thinking About the love that could never last
If my heart would've been Da Vinci's sketch or a painting sculpted by Van Gogh, sunsets would've visited it more fervently, along with double edged rainbows to add colour to my heart's vintage sky, and let the stars absorb blue ink till they glow. "I would have stopped the break of dawn" and let the shades of sun float.
If my heart would've been a sonnet written by Shakespeare, syllables would've traveled in the compartment of each line, so that an unheard poem beats inside the voids of my chest till my dwelling heart is read by every teenager whenever those beats together rhymed.
If my heart would be the city of oranges then summer on its bare foot would've roamed with hungry heart and unquenched throat till it sucks all the citrus and greenery, but migrating monsoon would've visited the barren lands of my heart too till Ambazari lake overflowed with certainties.
If my heart would've been Taj Mahal then the mortal souls of Shah Jahan and Mumtaz with their immortal love would've explored each marbled chamber till all my heart could pump is love, till each vague tale could inhale and exhale, is love.
And if my heart would be a somnolent lake, I would've dropped a tint of blue ink till each wave rage sapphire, I would've dropped a stroke of yellow ink to bloom daffodils layer by layer, and a pinch of black ink to outline hills and valleys, till my heart turns into a canvas of life. ~Purva