Karachi: 4 January 2022: I'd like to reconsider, I really do. But ours were nothing but fleeting moments every now and then, the secondhand happiness and nothing more.
You're the charm of warm sunlight that's creeping through the windowpane, the morning escapades, the sundaes after church day— the constant someday until all the firsts are crossed out.
I'm the mundane clouds both inside and outside of my lungs, the hopeless romantic with mixed signals and other delusions, the folklore chaser spilling vodkas and memories I never had— might be the constant void.
Please don't get me wrong, and you might never be. As much as I want us chasing each other inside a carousel, in glee and real euphoria, in grocery lanes and cinema tickets, in photographs and other love letters, this will stay beneath me, in rusted ribs and rotten heart—
All because I could never afford to see us buried along with other traumas, in false alignment, in shipwrecks and shrines in ruin.
This isn't another promise to the moon and back, this is digging my own skin— in love while you're in search for someone I could love.