They were strangers,
And then she fell in love with him.
She sent him love songs whenever she could,
She called him to hear him, whenever she could,
And then she told him one day –
“I’m falling for you”.
“I’m not sure”, he said, “I just like spending time with you”
She knew he will be sure with time,
But then suddenly they had no time.
He was out of her life, and another’s man.
She loved him, like a mad woman that she was.
She saw him, a handful of times.
Not even for two days, all put together.
Yet he knew her inside out,
And all she knew was his eyes, his silence, his quiet.
All she knew, she could write on a thumbnail,
Yet she felt that they just belonged together,
Not a feeling that was frail.
He still knows how she feels this day,
There are no phone calls, no texts and no poems.
Because she doesn’t know what to say and tell him anymore,
The sentences and words that he says like a stranger
Are worse than his silence and worse than the quiet.
Yet she would kill just to hear him,
And he kills her being a stranger-
His silence and his quiet and the cold cold words
She thought it was over,
But truth than the fiction is stranger.
He kills her and knows not,
And she waits for it to be over.
And waits for him to be a stranger, all over again.