Maybe,

I’ll find you, with tears in my eyes, in the rain I wet myself before holding you back in the auto to save you from cold (My eyes have been wet since)

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Or in the sweet smell of coffee in the same lounge we were introduced to it at first  (I never went there after you, and I never will)

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Or in the elevators, where I used to see your reflection every time I got in one (I avoid them now)

Or in the touch of Delhi winters that started smelling like your skin after I handed my last to you (now, they smell like nothing)

Or in the ghost that your kisses left on me,

maybe in the corpse I left in you (I shed my skin after you, the new me is still raw and tender)

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Or in my bed sheet, from where I texted late night with you; Or my pillow, where I cried endlessly thinking about you.

 

Or in the taste of words I tried so hard to forget,

but they clung on,

nibbling at my flesh

Or in the presumption that us would never end and that you will always remain mine (expectations always lead to ache, you taught me that)

 

Maybe

 

I’ll want you back

But, I think I won’t.

 

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