Wait for Her . . .

I long for her. I lust for her brown sugar voice to escape her full lips, one crystal at a time, once again. I miss her.

When nightfall struck us deeply one day, she was in my arms. She was motionless, sleeping peacefully. I was smiling at her closed eyes, stroking her dark hair back. I slept with her. The next day, when sunset made its grand entrance, I awoke with happiness. I rolled over to my left in the white heavenly sheets to share it. She was gone. She was gone. Empty closets and drawers swallowed my now vulnerable mind. I didn’t remember the last time I blinked. I called for her name, no response. I checked the bathroom, the main room, the hallway, everywhere. She was unseen, lost and not to be found. She didn’t leave a note. She didn’t leave a number. She didn’t leave a sign. She left me. I sat down on those white heavenly sheets, and held my head lower than a bottomless pit. She left me.

Everyday, I look optimistically outside those lucid windows of mine. I view the blossoming flowers, their petals floating through the air; the trees slow dance with the wind; the seemingly static soft clouds; and the people, a motley of colours, shapes and sizes. But I never see her. I never see her. I play her favourite song on the piano, a nocturne it is. I play it for her everyday louder than a thunder strike. But she never hears it.
I’ll forever play the song, waiting for her to come back to me.