Today.
The day arrived.
Inflicting the very words upon themselves,
They endeared a path,
For it is a lifetime now.
The one they had desired for their own.
Infinite.
She planted fragile kisses,
Over a framed photograph.
There was this man,
Who owned her smile and her heart,
Which had become heavy now.
Emotions reverberated through an open door,
Chaos.
Those wrinkled fingers played over the many written letters,
That aged with grace yet perfumed with a scent of unforgettable affairs,
Spread across the wooden floor,
Unharmed.
30 years ago, was it?
But it was today, she recalled.
She walked to an empty chair,
The photographs,
The letters,
They talked for almost an evening.
It was today, they talked about.

– Shweta Kher.