The end of a fall.

The months that flew by,
I refuse to believe was a curse,
I refuse to believe was a curse,
Even though I ended but a shadow,
A figment lost as the sea breeze pasts,
As dust wiped off a surface,
It was gone as soon as it was there.

It was not a curse,
It was a blessing,
It taught a lesson of  a lifetime,
That to love does not mean to own,
It means to feel,
It does not mean to have,
It means to care,
It means, that to love from afar,
Does not make it any less than love itself.
And that in love,
To leap and fall,
Is inevitable.

That is an art,
That the past few months have taught me, restlessly,
More bitter than all bitter gourds combined,
Though still sweeter than the nectar of heaven itself,
Much longer than a hot night,
Yet shorter than a second's pause,

It was the reason why I am awake at night,
The reason why I started to write,
The return of my passion to sketch,
It ignited my past lovers that have long been dead.

The stranger knocking on my front door last August,
I refuse to believe was a curse,
It was a blessing.