I think I am losing you. How do I know?
Go buy a book you hate, skimming over the hollow words, introspecting, you will find the staggering pillars of dreams we had woven together. Loss doesn’t always shows off, sometimes it sheepishly melts between the hinges of words, it lurks in the corner of eyes or crawls silently between the smiles.
Dinners are merely a clutter of forks and knives. Love songs aren’t romantic anymore, the heart you texted yesterday beats slower than before. Trips are a noisy routine, dates a fancy extravaganza. The words, which were perfectly timed like a cabaret dancer now lay scattered, unappreciated. The longing to see a lovely face on the other side of bed is diminishing, slowly.
I think I am losing you.
It’s not the cuddling or caressing where love resides, love finds its way through the cheeks that blush, the eyes that dance, the heart that fidgets like a fish out of water.
Love is like Jon Snow, who knows nothing. Love is the last page doodle of your rough. Love is the special in mess menu. Love is the old monk at 2 am. Love is strange. Love is weird. Love doesn’t always have to make sense.
Love shakes, love trembles, love limps but love never quits. Somewhere between ttyl and I am busy, our love lost its track. Lets drop the ‘r’ in regret, reclaim our dreams and bring the love back home. I promise the last slice of pizza will always be yours.