By Jayesh
The time which did not fall when she said "I'll come back, my son" when she left on the evening of her death.
The time which chuckled when he said, "I will always be there for you" over a call while sitting with his mistress.
The time cried when the pain was too difficult to sustain the night he saw the lonely lamppost where he met her lost love for the first time.
Time has felt over and over with you.
Next to your pillow.
In the look of that willow.
Over your mirror.
In the pain of that heart's blister.
In the taste of the morning coffee.
At the bottom of the night's whiskey.
It has felt, believe me.
It just never intervened.
Allowed itself to pass so you feel the mightiest who managed to garner ample gallantry to sustain that pain which just couldn't pass.
"Tell me a thing, Time." I asked quickly when I felt it will run away from me.
"Why do you run when I want you to sit as I take a mental photograph of my sister's innocent smile?"
Why do you wish to flee as I look over my dad's wrinkled forehead unknotting after years of tensity?
Why do you want to shoot through when I look at mother's eyes getting smaller and smaller as she laughs flipping pages of my old notebooks?"
My questions echoed back.
Turns out.
It has already left. Again.
Left a note, though, which said,
"I will return to answer them.
You can always keep the memories."
By Jayesh
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