Cold Turkey

You dream of the past; the future has lost its charm,
make-believe fuels your preferred depiction.
Facts increasingly deviate from fiction
with every note of the morning alarm.
He inhabits the world crafted by you
with bricks of memories and mortar of love.
Extracting a souvenir from your trove,
you reminisce each memory as if it were new.
The waning sunbeam bounces of his cheeks,
briefly traverses back to his eyes only to swerve,
and call it a day on his lips as they curve
to recreate the smile that you’ll always seek.
He flicks his long wavy strands of hair
that playfully obscure his unibrow.
You lack both, the courage to disavow
and the strength to initiate the repairs.

You can’t feel the touch of his soft nimble fingers,
You can’t hear the words he shoots out into the space
that isn’t yet opportune for you to embrace.
Day after day, you relive the falling embers.
Isn’t it like stepping into a dark room?
All of it, waiting to come alive
until the dawn pushes in at five
while your denial continues to cloak the tomb.
Your eyes adjust after a while; they always do.
The vacuous reality stares back,
you aren’t taken aback.
You know it’s been long overdue.

Break free from the perpetual limbo
of the Dead remain dead,
and the Living fail to comprehend.
Spring’s nearly here; unlock the windows.
You can’t endlessly drain the vials of reality.
Carry the love until you die
but let go of the weight, say goodbye.
You exist beyond your dreams, and so does he.
It is time to wake up.

Atreyee Bhattacharya is currently pursuing a management degree from SPJIMR, Mumbai. She writes about fantasy, reality and everything in between. 

Featured image credit: Pixabay