Last friday midnight I flipped through the pages of my old diary which abounds in my poems for you. I flipped through the long sheets, still fresh . Every page was titled your name.I knew I was deliberately revisiting them to see whether I still held the capacity to revive any memories in peace or all my power had dropped out alongside tears and blood.
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The pen you had gifted me before moving to your work city rolled out of the last few pages. I recalled how emotional you had become while silently and tenderly placing it on my palms and rolling my fingers around it.You told me that it carried the warmth your father's love who had given it to you on a very special occasion .I remember that day , how your eyes were fixed to the pen while handing it down .It seemed to me less of a pen and more of your love for me and even more of a promise of loyalty.
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Though I never use the pens people gift me, that night love, I filled the pen half with the blood of my consistently bleeding heart and half with the tears carrying memories. I carved our illusory conversations and pulled back all the fading promises , enlivened our moments which are imprinted on the banks of sunset lit lake, where your heartbeat profused proportionally with the widening of my smile , where we had measured walks when our clocks had started ticking together.

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