She feels it,
It's coming,
She knows not from where,
It smells near but hidden and distant,
Can't rekindle what isn't started,
She can't fathom the essence of the stretch of time.

I saw her cry and smile,
She is fatigued,
She had the emotionally malnourished look of someone who did not have friends.
When i talked to her,
She spoke in an incohate twang,
She hungered to understand everything,
She is poignantly young.

When we parted ,
She was shrouded in a soup of nothingness.
How do I unwrap her from the pashmina of the wounded?
I wondered.
© Chinnyfab