You have destroyed me in the most unlikely and wild ways. You have destroyed me so much that anything less than an addiction doesn't travel through my skin. I have become what I always feared. I am now on this inexplicable quest. A journey that might never end. The only end to this seems to be the end of me. I am now yearning for it and my soul is in an unending agony. My heart is now deprived of any desire or ability to get up, it is crawling in a direction of its own, looking fiercely for the drops of passion to rejuvenate it, like a wounded beast.

The day you left was the day I breathed last. It was the day since when my body is searching for its soul.  It is 2 am in the morning and I haven't touched my bed since days. why would I? When you have captured it with your memories. When it doesn't look the same anymore. The creases of the bed shout vehemently for the warmth of your presence. They are lying in a wayward fashion, to be tamed. The way we tamed each other. But now, everything is still. The air that wrapped you here has disagreed to move. It wants to hold on to your impression, lingering in the air, as long as it is here. You took away your presence but you couldn't take away your sillage. Your sillage, which is like a misty, warm winter morning. When everything is calm and serene. When the weather holds a mystery in itself. It is rare like the sun-kissed dew in the winter morning. Yet, it is addictive like the snow. Snow that falls upon us and touches something more than the skin. Snow, for whose arrival many cultures wait year long. Like I am waiting for you, my snow in this summer. 
A soft breeze at window takes me to the moon and the stars. How I used to laugh at their misery. The moon is the biggest cliche, I used to claim! I never could imagine how the writers could give moon such amorous meaning when all we had to do for the same was to look into each other's eyes. Only now do I feel the pain. It is not the moon, it has never been. It is about the other person. The moon is just a symbol, because looking into each other's eyes is not always possible. As I gaze at it, a million memories, and a million other thoughts come to my mind. I trail the sky with my eyes. Why did I never see its beauty before? The writers were not wrong. It is a beautiful cliche. Underneath this beauty is the world sleeping, unaware of what it is missing in the silence of the night. And then there's me. Trying to find my summer-light in this night. 
How I realize now that I had not known anything. I discovered myself the day you left. How I always felt that literature was superficial. How I could not connect to Shakespeare. All seems at ease now. Maybe it's a good thing you left. I am now realizing what I always disbelieved in. Literature is not all drama. Literature is not exaggeration if the reader can connect. But little did you care. You were your own simple kind, not getting indulged into the intricacies of literature, art, or the cliches. You believed in what appealed to you. No reason, no logic. How I admired that! 

It's four in the morning and all I can comprehend right now is that I cannot do without you. All I see. All I hear. All I feel. All I think about. All I hope for. Is YOU!

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