Lonely faces

I used to believe that I could choose to be in love whenever I wanted to.
I could forget = his breath bleeding the old blanket…
Throw= the papers he had randomly scratched
Stop thinking= our imaginary address..

And avoid the delirious spells of his hunger in dark, smoked rooms..
But sadly it never worked that way. Being in love meant that you had
To be a lunatic perpetually and keep contemplating about his eye signals
Every second he passed by and to secretly doodle his hands etched with yours
In some forlorn valley near Kashmir..
You would fret about him not meeting you and you will fret about everything that it ensues.
I am a drama queen and I went through a more colorful hell.
I used to flame in countless shades of red, thinking of his other girls
And shoot alcohol, anger, angst, sex with strangers..
With only his face in mind, heaving like a punctured balloon and then
Dropping like a sedating tune with the last sigh of “making love” (.please shut up.)
But now I feel I am out of it.
I am no longer a mad child with flowers in hands and moon wrapped on my shoulders..
I don’t have him. I never had him.
But I want to be in love again, I want to feel that grimy buzz in eyes.
If I fall in love with you, I want to start dreaming right away.
About all the places we will go to, all the words that you would carve.
All the things I will wait for..
And for some time I will forget the lonely faces that form
In the mirror with mine and it suddenly slaps me..
How lonely I feel without you.