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