Scattering Stars Over Parking Lots

We talk so much about leaving. 

And sometimes we do just that.

And it is sad and crippling and creates visible splits within you.

But just sometimes, picking up all your clothes -

The frayed yellow dress and the brand-new olive green one

and throwing them inside the suitcase,

is all the closure you need.

We remember each other again in unexpected nights;

When sundry faces raise toasts and tinkling glasses make ear-deafening noises.

You would come to me in the last spark of fire on the night-sky,

And you would smell my perfume in the faceless magenta dressed girl.

I would call my best friend that night;

Over spoonfuls of ice-cream, I would tell her,

how I remember all the moles on your skin.

You would write a poem for me that night;

And in a burst of reckless energy,

Email it to me and spend the night, tearing your insides out.

Come the next morning.

Our heads will be filled with daring ideas and 

As universe would have it,

We would see each other at the same parking lot.

You, swearing at the stupid teenager who would not move his car,

And, I, being weighed down by three bagfuls of groceries.

We would reach down into our pockets, at the same time.

And scattering handfuls of stars over the parking lot,

We would meet halfway.



April 28, 2015