Sleeping Alone

I wake up at 2:40
In the morning
And I think of you
I picture you
On your king-size bed
Cribbed like an infant
With your dogs
Or your thoughts
Sleeping next to you.
The television must be on
As that’s how you like it
With Chandler spilling his sarcasm
Or Monica obsessing over tidiness
You say you like your space
But sometimes, im sure
When you turn towards the left
In one of your sweet slumbers
And your arms fall hopelessly
On the empty sheets
You do taste some bitterness.


I’m tired of this ‘act’ called love!

I’m done, I’m tired.
I’m tired of being reminded constantly
That this, is a ‘different kinda love’
and the many battles I fight with my mind,
trying to explain the same.
I’m tired of your,
“What is wrong with you?”
And my ‘nothing!’s
When every time I see myself
Losing a part of me.
I’m tired of your indifference,
and my relentless efforts,
seeking happiness from trivial things
Like a ‘good morning ‘ or a ‘goodnight ‘ text.
I’m tired of trying to convince myself
That I am not the ‘other woman’
While my mind plays a parody to my frustrate attempts.
I’m tired of seeing you, so much, in love with me
behind closed doors, and the next moment,
just two civilized individuals sharing common interests, whenever, someone walks in.
I’m tired of acting okay
Every time you mention her name,
or when, I see you together, a happy picture, and I, a dramatic backdrop to a nineteenth-century forbidden romance.
I’m tired of encountering the sneer in the faces of people which quickly moulds into a smile whenever you walk in.
I’m tired of living a lie which every night I feed my mind as I hush myself to sleep.
I’m tired of it all,
I’m tired of this act called ‘love’!


Pic courtesy- Siddhant Thapa