Confessions of a Former Lover

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I was a lover
Now a former lover.

I don’t know if it was love
Or a house of cards where I resorted when I was homeless.
It definitely was something frail because had it been sturdy
I would have been scared of breaking it.
On being continuously told that frail things splinter
I would have feared the strong, because strong is fickle,
They don’t guarantee the strength.
Love comes with the fear of loss
And I never feared a thing.

I am a troubled lover.
Because the love letters I received always made me feel callous and detached.
Because the strings of my emotions were never flexible.
But condensed for anybody to touch upon them
And feel anything but my unconcerned nerves carrying love
That was actually not love.
Or maybe because today if someone asks me to choose between them and my favorite book,
I would choose the book and leave like a materialistic lover who loved your body more than your soul.

I am a troubled lover because
All my poems are about love I never dived in,
Because it never happened to me
Because it was all in my mind
Than in my life.
Like the baby dinosaurs in a 5-year old’s imagination
Like the dream guy of a thirteen year old
Like a nineteen year old visualizing a childhood where he can bring those dinosaurs back to life
YET AGAIN.

Yet again when I think of those arms which held me tight
Which swayed my soul on the rhythm of his soul
Which actually made me feel like home
Not of those brittle cards or those moveable houses,
I know that I am a troubled lover
Who was never a lover but a narcissistic wannabe
Talking about ‘I, I and I…’
Who never felt those butterflies seize her belly
Who actually effaced all the signs of emotions from her life
Who could never be anything but a former lover
Who had let her soul sway on the rhythm of his soul.

I am a lover
Now a former lover
Because the sunlight does not remind me of a bright beautiful face.
Because the stars are just the stars
And not a blanket I would love to hide in with you.
Because I can never settle with love letters which might mean nothing someday
BECAUSE I am a troubled lover thinking of love as a fabrication and not a fact.

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