The heart shaped pain bleeds at times. Salty aftertaste of tears still clings on to wet eyelashes. If we could switch lives I would let you live mine. Walking alone in sleepy nostalgia the roads still seem unknown. Half lived reveries crazily zapped don’t feel familiar anymore. Before waxed arms, threaded eyebrows, re-vitalizing creams and kajal pencils were discovered. Before dresses got sexed up and long hair felt manageable. Before mornings that’s now spent in pools of afterthought and vexed emotions. Before you happened. Before “us” was born. Hurriedly posted letters, wrongly spelled greeting cards, slambooks given awkwardly without allowing eyes to meet, silent phone calls made by voices quivering with thrill, poems written by amateur hands, diaries filled with songs of undying love being swanked….. did curve smiles. That’s when I felt beautiful for the last time, in every sugary lyricised way, falling in love with oneself was what had happened then. After that, life lost pace. I lost track. Both lost it.