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Dear Harry,

That night between breaks, we lay down the cold tiles. You were watching the stars, and I was facing the marble. You asked me what time would I return, and I said I'd be back in five minutes. The whole time you were singing, and I was counting seconds. We left after two minutes, and that was the moment when it dawned on me the cruel tragicomedy. I was too caught up in you, too absorbed in the minutes you left, but you were uncaring, not because you didn't care, but because I didn't tell you soon enough. And here I am, still hoping, overthinking what to say, rehearsing my interaction, but the sad thing is that I'll never be able to perform my best self because I got too busy counting the seconds when you'll never notice my whispered screams of longing.

Friday, September 13, 2O13

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