Who am I to hopelessly wish for things at shooting stars
I must let go of the very things I want to hold onto,
All in hopes that a better tomorrow awaits me.
I must kill the ache of my longing, keep it hidden between the pages of my diaries, bleed poems on paper till the words run dry.
There’s nothing I can do about it, no bargains of love, just my rage that I scream at empty skies that refuse to answer my prayers.
Soon the time will pass, you will be gone, a distant memory of the past.
Soon we will never talk again, I’d never watch you anxiously fidgeting as you sit across from me.
The way your hand fits into mine, the calluses of your fingertips over the smoothness of my skin.
Soon I’ll forget how it felt
The way we intertwined our hands, the gaps of your fingers holding mine
Soon I’ll forget your warmth, how it felt to bury my head into your chest
I’ll miss the way you laugh,
But soon I’ll forget the sound of it too.
I’ll miss the look on your face when you cheekily smiled at a stupid joke I made.
But with time I shall forget it all, that’s the treachery of time, it will be a long road between the memory of you and me.
I’ll find another lover to write poems about, you would be just another chapter I flip through.
What a cursed thing that every act of my love must be my final one
I miss you, I won’t wait, the wait kills you.
Part of me believes that not waiting will make time go faster.
I’ll rage at my gods for taking you away,
But soon it’ll stop too.
I will resent our future selves for forgetting each other,
But soon I’ll be too caught up with life to hold the grudge.
I would wish angrily that I hope love never finds me again,
But soon my anger will die and who knows love will be at my door again.
But in the now, I’m just a poet.
I hope these words I write will save me.
Our hearts were broken in the same places. That’s something like love, but maybe not quite the thing itself- Turtles all the way down by John Green
Bhoomi's diary 
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