I can’t give him anything
except some weak hopes and bleak accounts,
that are not sufficient enough to make him feel the pain,
not of losing me,
but of losing a chance to wag with pride and conceit
in the midst of those moments that still reek of our togetherness,
and bring me the tales of his indifference towards our part,
His nonchalance doesn’t move me with tears,
instead soak my heart with a shrewd ambiguity that asserts
how intense his love is,
how much impact it has created on him,
that an adamant like him is impartial,
unlike what I imagined of him earlier
since, love is a feigned prediction
that doesn’t keep any prejudices aside,
but works through them to add some spice
in those painful moments,
that aren’t missed by its visionary glimpse
so that it can boastfully foreshadow the doom
of its target i.e trust
but while aiming at trust,
it misses a chance,
it tries again to pull the reins of trust,
but fails again,
instead slays optimism,
with the end of optimism,
love gets weakened,
hate empowers;
and neutrality becomes the ultimate end!

One thought on “Slayed

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