Stranger in My Home.

By Drishti Kedia

I love you.

I love you like

hunger loves humans,

like moths love flames.

I’ll be your murderer in life,

and your lover in death.

I scare you.

We're at the doorstep of this little love we built, brick by brick.

You leave.

Can I blame you?

Your silhouette against the kitchen counter still dances with the silence when I’m making dinner sometimes.

I remember you.

I remember you like

a love story that rusted

as if it were a poem on my tongue,

the lingering perfume of passion on my lips.

The voice in my head keeps whispering a line from a book we read together.

"I miss you more than I remember you.”

I miss you.

I miss you like

a daughter her home in her father's arms,

like old age regretting not running away to live and love with sin, in his youth.

Love sure slits your throat just enough to keep you alive, and leaves a deep enough scar so you never forget.

The trail of your fingers on my scars as they walk home, I miss you.

I miss you.

the end is never lovely. It's always dirty. It's always dark. My skin crawls, and insanity- oh this insanity- I don't know what to do with myself.

I'm a stranger in my home.

By Drishti Kedia