A date with a midnight

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He was one those silent whispered children, glued to the shadows. Ink was his blood and paper was his realm. Such was the magic of her that she brought out the best in him with her arrival every time. He was a writer and she was a midnight.

He felt strangely connected to her in the loneliest of those after hours. Her cold breeze oozing through the gap of half shut window whispered of first rain somewhere far where it belonged. 3 am was the time he was most awake and she knew all of his secrets. What he went through that day and what had made him smile. He was the shoulder to many and at night, he turned to her for she was a refuge to his tears waiting to swim out. His fingers moved fast narrating a story to her, a story of what he saw, heard and went through. He lived a lonely life because he had to get the best tale out. For he had to be with her all night and be inspired. She was his only inspiration at times to transform the severed words and bond them into a meaningful chronicle for everyone.

He slept less and thought more. Midnight saw him restless, happy, scribbling, resurrecting the thrown out words back. A date with a midnight was all he needed for he was a writer and words danced in his dreamy eyes, waiting to be told. He needed her and she needed him too because he was the only one who did not desert her. He worked in the tranquility of her world and she kept him company by lingering over his shoulders, tickling him occasionally with a cold gust of air.

Troubled girl

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Troubled girl, you keep me getting back to you,

The puff of your cologne,

It fills my lungs.

It smells of your lost love.

Your smell it feels my nose, your smell that is melancholy to your tears.

Tears which on my shoulders took refuge,

That smell keeps me getting back to you girl…

The summer wind – it mocks at me quietly,

It reminds me of tossing up and down of your coloured hair streaks.

This wind whispers in my ears,

Of troubles you shared.

The ones I borrowed and heard your story,

Your troubles and your past,

Your hope and your teen age dreams,

The wind keeps me getting back to you girl…

The couples that I know and ones that I see,

And those stupid mundane fights that they keep getting in.

Are reminiscent of your aqua brown eyes,

The ones I drowned in when I held your hand and let you in,

Along with you, I let your baggage sweep in.

I spoke to you while you gazed at the lake,

I envied the orange sun & even the tranquil air that you breathed in.

They keep me getting back to you girl…

I kissed dried tears on your chin and listen to you talk about him,

Of how you set him free for something else that he had been chasing.

I heard it all and watched you laugh as I pinched you gently.

I became a story-teller and with closed eyes you heard them,

With your head resting on me.

Those stories keep me getting back to you girl…

But now I do see you dream,

In a new photo you shared with your round face wearing a grin.

Same aqua brown eyes,

But different arms now hold you in.

If it rejuvenates your teen age dreams,

Then maybe worth it is.

My hands search for you troubled girl,

You, who now have become a story for me.

Oh troubled girl, you keep me getting back to you,

You left, you did.

But honey, you left your troubles with me.