it's over

head bowed down,
he makes himself a cup of coffee
i don’t know what coffee,
so i assume its black

he wears kurtas on most days
its almost as if he's heard the secret gushing i go through when i see a boy in a kurta
a sullen expression clouds his face,
as if he’s in deep contemplation
or is mulling over existence in rem

we have never exchanged looks
i have only passed by him
on sparse occasions when i timed my movements
he wears specs and has hairy hands
such a turn on

he walks as if to avoid any eye-contact
any eye-contact at all
because if it happens,
he will lose it all
its a slippery slope afterall

and a downward rise,
this love business

i walk
run
looking for erasure of the old lover
there's an art to getting distracted at the wrong time, always

i tell myself 'maybe i am too old for being this lost"
but i keep myself at a safe remove
from my every minute business like emotional fluctuations that are like the BSE stock index

i dream of him
an incandescent lit-up hallow surrounds the Sphere of the dream
bulbing with words and works of the everyday
i wake up, toes twitching
cold sweat beads
was it him? i ask myself and smile
a wicked, shy, exposed and silly smile
at my own inanities

another one joins the reigns
what do i do with this one?
where shall this go?
asinine manners of falling in love
of falling in love with anyone n everyone

terms and conditions,
pages, reams of textbook dreams and staple conversations inside the head
bulbing

pop
poof
and splat
here now
gone another moment
love
the miraculous escape, that could be