Those papyrus snippets, of words etched.
Which seem meaningless today, can’t be torn can’t be kept.
The reason says its over, with a piercing pain.
While the wish is to hang on.
Amalgamation of the desire to keep within the warmth of arms,
to the reminiscence of turning cold.
The urge to reciprocate in the manner treated,
to the difference in me & you.
Its no longer you but the thought of you,
which can’t be torn can’t be kept.
While I Live with the thought, I wish you live where you find peace.
For the chapters of life once etched can’t be torn can’t be kept.
There’s always next, till the sands of time run out & echos become immortal or fade away.