~Bhaswati Mahanta

December, the month of grief.
Grief that reminds me of the time when
I was almost loved, enough,
to last me a lifetime.
It reminds me of the time when
my hands were warm enough
in my lover's embrace.

I hold hot coffee cups tighter,
hoping for the heat to burn through my skin.
December evening skies,
with tints of tangerine,
It reminds me of the fragrance
of your berry coloured lips.
You, me and the comfortable silence in between.

Cold numb hands
similar to snowflakes, fragile.
Skin slowly breaking down into dust.
Barefooted walks
on a winter morning,
hands longing to be held,
fingers entwined.

I remember the smell of freshly
baked fruit cakes and wooden logs,
devoured by the harsh fire.
Hazy silhouettes of fairy lights
Streets covered with x-mas vibes
and my poor heart running out of love.
December, the month of pain.
Pain, that reflects in the mighty river
that runs through my city.
As the chilly cold wind cuts through
my paper-like skin,
leaving me bleed black and blue.
I cry remorseful tears, because,
sadness and melancholy
is all what I'm worth feeling.

December, my month of regret.
Regret of all things that could have been.
As I see young lovers pass by
sharing confessions and affections alike.
My feelings of regret kicks in,
of feeling too much,
of not feeling enough and
of owning a dysfunctional heart.
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