By L. Pragna Shekar
It makes me mad that I want to let go and travel a path that leads to you.
The ebbing of the soul which makes “you” creates an endless turmoil in my mind.
The fact that uncertainty is the only path raises my doubts.
But the journey in that uncertainty path is lonely.
Hoping to find you on the other side, I turn, I toss, and I think and blabber continuously.
A moment of silence engulfs me with the stillness around afraid to brake the illusion.
Love or an illusion.
It is a cold space.
Craving for warmth I hug myself.
Thinking, “Love is a bitch.”