It’s been 911 days since I last saw you

It’s been 911 days since I last saw you

The seasons don’t care what name you call it. What emotions you attach to them is irrelevant, isn’t it? I mean, the clouds are dark and heavy, its pouring, and you say it’s sad, but why should the nature care? And why should the trees care? (They’re grateful afterall) And why would the rainy days be sad when the couple beside the phone booth are lost in the warmth of each other’s lips? Even when the phone booth is empty, they choose to drench themselves in your so call sad weather for its romantic, erotic, dramatic.

Oh, humans love to add meaning to otherwise meaningless anything. But doesn’t that help when a poet is born? Or a painter? Or a lover?

Call my love anything you want. I see, you choose “infatuation” for it. I could care less. Do you know what they call my love? An animalistic hunger, a humanoid emotional form of illness, a sabotaging act, an unnecessary indulgence into the sin, a trespasser into heaven…I’m a demon.

I’m a daughter of the sin. I’m born with hunger. I’m born with illness. Incompleteness. Void. I’m everything that you avoid, almost everyone in fact.

So I’m a hungry beast, since the last time I saw you. It’s been 911 days of not seeing your angelic face oozing beauty and innocence. I’m starving, thirsty, dying for it. I guess that’s just right, I’ve a demonic entity inside me, that desires the holiest entity it has ever come across. The hollowness makes my insides come out and my eye balls facing backwards and my ribs choke-holding my heart and I guess I lost my soul long time ago. So call me whatever you want, a ravenous demon like me could use even a glimpse of you.

I’ve nothing godly inside me to save myself anymore. I’m not sure what I would do the next time I see you.

You never know.

What I would do.

The next time I see you.

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