Stones

By Ritvik Sharma

They’re just paperweights 

subtly subtexting I said,

a deeper story underneath

even words can’t express.

I don’t love stones

I don’t hate them either

but she says I'm fond of them

I am a people pleaser.

It's nice to see her

all happy and full of light,

to find me rare stones

hidden in plain sight.

A blue tile that feels right

small grey pebbles in my hand,

a hazel one buried beneath

one she dug out from the sand.

I stand there with a radiant smile,

flushed cheeks, heart brimming with glee

how she thinks they’re all stories

special memories I keep with me.

I hope she never does realise

that it were never the stones for me

but rather the smile in her eyes.

I now have a cupboard heavy with them

it has become their humble abode,

enough tales to write me a book

enough rocks to pave an entire road.

Each one may not be a real memory

but I treat them as if they were,

I’d happily walk down that road

as long as it leads back to her.

By Ritvik Sharma