but then

but then,

she was supposed to be the one to hold it all back

and he was supposed to pour it out

for words that remained unspoken

for glances that remained unstolen

for skin tissues that remained untouched

for love that remained ungrew

but still,

she continues to keep him close

and no love but he continues to send his bests, his smilies and his typos

he continues to haunt her dreams

she continues to chase a mirage wrapped in flesh

and a wild imagination of an unparalleled universe

where number of bohemian coffee shops will surpass the number of cars and crowd on roads

where he attracts unusual weather and keeps her tongue busy

some days, he plays cupid

and some days, turns into a stone that smashes windows and breaks hearts

some days, his eyes flirt

some days, his whole being is just a smile so broad that makes his face wrinkled

some days, he is a secret lover

and on a night like this, he irons out her cold palms and whispers that maybe that's the way he prefers

it was one of the those nights

and it was his palm against her trembling feminine fingers

on nights like this, she wonders

if  she(they) has lost her (their) only chance to be mad at each other, to disappoint one another

coz the clock has long-ticked and gone

and the sand from hourglass has slipped

now her face has turned into what defines obvious

and when the big wheel will start to spin

there will be nothing

but pesky rumors and nasty smirks

and a question that why didn’t it happened

what was there to reason

to them, then she asks

given a chance what would they have preferred

a love affair

or an affair worth longing?