Soft Spot

The last time I held your hands,

They were cold.

That tore me apart when I understood there was no belongingness anymore.

I acknowledge what I lost.

The access to your heart and soul.

Whether your body remained close or not doesn’t matter.

I know I lost that soft spot.

And, I also know what losing means.

I can never recover it though how accessible it might seem.

I lost the premium access to your heart.

The soft spot that used to worship me like a deity.

I stomped upon it and got myself slaughtered.

No more offerings made,

No more flowers.

After losing the soft spot I carry a dark spot in my heart- ever darkening, ever growing –

And, like a blackhole-

I absorb.

I absorb grief like a staple.

The grief of losing a pure soul.

The man of a character and composure.

In you, both dignity and vanity uproars.

And, here I soar in pain.

Whimper in anguish for losing you.

©® Farheen Akter Bhuian Nancy

Timestamp: 11 am, Tagar

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