The Idea Of Love

By Shreya Ghoshmitra

I woke up in your bed,

with tousled brown locks,

feeling cold and shaky.

The blankets were off.

So were the clothes,

lying on the hard wooden floor.

And the December air

reeks of stale beer and smoke.

I hear the shower running,

and recall your wet lips on mine.

I recall the chuckles you made

when I shivered at every contact,

slight.

Sitting on the bed’s edge

wrapped in sheets,

I wonder what had gone so wrong,

to mar our bliss.

Was it me or was it you?

Or, was it the hundreds and thousands

of people,

who told it was too good to be true?

Or perhaps, we weren’t really in love,

was the idea just enough?

By Shreya Ghoshmitra