This is my hour. My moment. When the world goes numb in misery, I wake up to tell stories of grief. They are the sad kinds, ones that are bound to leave imprints upon dried cheeks. This is my time. I croon and rant it away.

I recall her often to sing me songs of doom. But it becomes different with time. As the cycle of life moves on, my endless pointless charade keeps losing its meaning. Its shine rusts like the lifeless aftermath of lost love.

Now no matter how many times she tries to rhyme, it always ends up in fits of dissonance. No matter how many times she tries to sway in front of me, I can’t make her out proper. I surmise my vision might have gone blind with angst. Or could it be that I have stopped looking?

She is intertwined in another dimension. Voices I hear are gibberish echoes that hardly make it here. I can’t even tell if it’s her, that looks back at me from a wretched screen. It has become harder to tell if that thick mist that dangles yonder could be her contour.

In a way, I am glad that it wanes with every morsel of my breath. In a way, it makes me sad too that she would stop counting.

You are like a faded memory that stands on the precipice of my mind. You are at a point where soon you aren’t going to matter anymore. Your disappearance is an imminent death of love, and whatever it ever stood for. Your artless figurine is all I can find from this vantage, and it only screams, if it ever tries to speak, in miffs of vexation.

You look tensed that I have forgotten what good ever stood for. You look worried that I have finally let go of things that bound you by any possible thread of possibility. To be candid, it gives me immense pleasure that I finally see you for who you are. A morsel waiting for its sudden demise in the mouths of time! Maybe you deserve every bit of it, maybe you don’t and are still being punished for a world you failed to see with me. Penalized for breaking a child’s peerless innocence into a bazillion chunks for trying to figure out shinier things in life from duskier naughts.

Maybe in all that sullen meanness, the latter’s what you have become. I don’t intend to revive you from the poetic justice that gawks you from a distance. And in all this inebriated crudeness I feel in this split second of a moment, I wish to let you know, “You had it coming!”