I Let Them Go...

By Shaunak Bakshi

As the clock struck 4,

I looked up at it, dreading the hour

because people say 3AM is for heartbroken thoughts,

but for me, 4AM has always held that power.

Cup of black coffee in hand,

I softly pad up to my bedside table,

open an engraved box and collect something precious,

like something out of a fable.

I head upstairs and take a right,

in front of me a corridor devoid of light

and at the end of that dark tunnel,

a door of considerable height.

I unlock the door and push it gently

as it groans and creaks,

of mildew, despair, and dust

the other side reeks.

I smile sadly as I enter,

my hand brushing over the light switch

as the room becomes visible again,

like a rash or incessant brain itch.

dust mites dance gracefully

in the flickering yellow light,

while spiders swing lazily

in cobwebs, a strangely moving sight.

Moving, because the sad truth is

I only visit here sporadically, not a regular

an overthinker, and a hoarder

of thoughts and unfinished dreams, a settler.

The endless shelves running in the room

made of old heartbreak and teak,

sag under the weight of begone expectations

and all that I once thought I did seek.

Walking past shelved memories

of brown eyes, toothy smiles, and messy hair

I reach a shelf not yet filled

with tearstained pages and my soul to bare.

I gently pull out from my pocket,

a journal filled with an incomplete love story,

writing smudged with splashes of exhaustion,

with no happy ending, no glory.

I place the journal on the shelf,

for it to get swallowed by forgetfulness and rust,

and as my feet find their way back to the door,

I pray for my battle-worn heart to turn to dust.

I lock the door reverently,

slick fingers slipping over the cool metal,

and as I make my way back to my bedroom

my heart bawls that all I do is settle

And that I settled for letting them go, once again.

By Shaunak Bakshi