We've all been part of the same sweet game.
Often, if not, always, when abundance of emotions prevail, and situations run high and dry,
like the demystifying eyes, that flutter across your troubled brows,
that are often shriveled, like the ripples that we made in the lake, in the days of yore.
When often, life was defined by the shoe-clad wriggly feet,
that were often pointed to the stars in the wavering nights of child-dom.
Oh, how often, if not always, my thoughts go back to the same incoherent folk-tales.
When the Maharajah extended his strong hands to the erstwhile princess, and how we blushed,
at the prospective love that was deemed to happen.
You and I looked into each other's eyes, and we realized that love is not what is spoken about, only. Love can exist, sporadically, insignificantly. And having made our compelling discovery, receded into the the same child-dom of blooming happiness.
When you and I were a little different.
A bit more silent, a bit less coherent, slightly more eloquent.