I remember

I remember the coach we used to take morning and evening

The dirty hand grips that went unnoticed

And half an hour of intimate conversation missed

I recall the table we sat when we second met

Then I sneaked on to it

Took careful sip out of my morning coffee

Oh, how you stain my memory.

I cannot forget that girl who had fallen madly but silently

She could cry, she could give up everything.

And that was the story, my dear friend.

Story of finding, embracing, fighting and letting go of a muse.

This,

was the story of you...