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The version of you?

The version of you?

I mourned, fumbled, mumbled and shut my mouth within a moment,
I realized that I was still stuck with you,
I belittled myself imagining you here in this moment,
The moment where I get to choose a version of you
The very version which I created in my mind,
Which dwells and hauls me over from time and again,
The very version which keeps on whispering the darkness through my ears,
And still, I chose to stay silent,
The very version which touched me in the most uncomfortable manner yet it always felt appropriate,
The very version which I created in my mind,
No, it is not a self victimized poem about being betrayed by you anyhow,
How can I put you on the edge of a cliff and choose to glare from a distance?


The bewitchedness and hopes that were never mine,
The answers that you were uncomfortable with, not in that comfortable manner when you touched me.
The authority can’t do anything,
It broke the very last time where I lost my comprehension.
But being an overthinker, I always had a doubt,
Was it just me?
Was I too naive to not to think about the myriad accounts pertained to you, Where you stood subjective?
A surprise, a shock, a non-abysmal truth,
Where I lacked the very foundation of my vocabulary and restricted my imagination?
where I lost my comprehension?


The very version of you talks to me,
It still does,
In my mind,
When I try to tell my nerves to calm their individual selves down,
I am not lunatic, okay?
I know it’s a plain lie,
just that I feel warm with the false hope, the hope that keeps this heart altogether, where I try and try and tell myself to quit weeping,
Where you are subjective but with surprises.
I still remember the many days I spent with you, the many nights in which I chose to see your face, the very hilly seconds, in which the hills were never mine.
I hate that version,
not you,
you are clear,
you are transparent,
but your version, which I created, one which promises me the world, a world which you can not possibly commit to me.
I griefed enough, mourned enough,
But was it completely futile?

Okay, maybe it was,
I mean,
PEOPLE CHANGE, SO DO THE SEASONS
EVERYONE SHOULD MOVE ON,
But I still await the giggles, which my ears fail to spot anymore,
Wait for the fashion in which you will come with the enigmatic smile as you know the truth,
But even if it happens
Will it matter?
Does it even matter now?
Did it ever matter???
I mourned, fumbled, mumbled and shut my mouth within a moment,
I realized that I was still stuck with you,
When you are subjective and I have lost all comprehension.

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About The Author

Heerak Singh Kaushal

A person who is not afraid to 'call a spade, a spade'. You can often find me in two moods, either talking to everyone or just a quiet child. I live in a bubble that whatever it is shown in the newspapers, people are still good at heart. I wish you the best and may your pain just blow away!

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