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In front of me again  Was she this morning.  Her hair tangled  Wet from shower I helped her comb For a minute or so Styled her hair  To perfection  But her mind remain tangled in knots Her face dry So I put on cream To moisturize her face But her hope Still running low Like a river unaware Of anything but summer I picked the concealer  Of dark shade Same with her complexion  For it to blend good Perfectly hid the bags Under her eyes The proof of fight  She had last night I applied to her face some foundation  Gave her a little color  She needed a fake glow Put on her light eyeshadow  Eyeliner and mascara To highlight again Her broken window Broken beyond repair stripped of light Devoid of life She used to paint Her lips pink But now she asked for red tint  So she could hide the bite marks She created last night While stifling her cries Then after few more adjustments  She stood up an...

His loneliness is twenty four years, seven months and nineteen days old. It crept in the moment when he received her wedding card one night prior to her wedding which carried a note in her beautiful handwriting saying, ‘Forget me’. He lived in her neighborhood, having first met her in his childhood when she broke his nose with her racquet, having first known her in his adolescence when both passed furtive glances at each other from the edge of their balconies, having first loved her in his adulthood when she stood by him like a pillar as he lost his parent in an auto crash, and having first longed for her in his lonely night that followed after the wedding card reached his hands. He couldn’t convince her parents to allow their daughter to marry him, a struggling orphaned writer. The sounds of trumpets on her wedding night hasn’t escaped his memory till date, still waking him up in the middle of the night. Her dry cheeks that bore the scars of the tears of the previous night, perhaps...