"when its lost, where does it go?"

all this love, when people lose it, where
does it go?"

"do you think this.. love between us will
leave too?"

"not everything i ask is about us"


Eepsita, always the questioning kind.
she is reading me a page from her favourite
short, our backs against each other, each
looking at two ends of this room that
Would soon be empty. we are moving to
different city.

every letter, being traced by her fingers
as she reads...