I’m outside the train station and I see you, walking towards me,
Me in my black jumpsuit and clenched fists.
I look across the street and there we are,
With our fingers entwined, like it meant something.
Now I’m looking up the staircase, the one I descended,
After we argued about everything that makes me who I am.
I lie down, where you lay, and try to trace your outline, as your hands held onto my hips.
That’s the table, do you remember?
Coffee all over it, while you took in every word I said.
I’m driving down that street now, where you asked me to be yours,
The lines blur and we’re breathing the same air again,
You squeeze my hand, my arm, and leave your mark on me
I breathe in your smell, and forget it instantly.
I shut my eyes and will time to freeze.
Red wine, black choker, pink lipstick,
Your blue shirt,
The green straw, my yellow skirt, and your hands.
Whiskey with water and coke.
I’m wearing my black jumpsuit again,
It smells like me now.
There are barricades all along the street
I refused to go down.
The train station is empty,
The streets look different,
I can’t remember where you parked
I can’t remember where you parked.
Aanchal Ghai “fiercely passionate about writing with a tatoo to prove it” and truly “hilarious”.