You forced me in fact, saying
You want me to accompany you
Till your hostel in another city.
As we sat giggling and talking,
Our faces so close- I could feel
Your breath and the brush of
Your hair on my cheeks.
It could have been a kiss.
But I wasn't ready for something
Like that - consciously maintaining
A distance, freeing my hand
From your clutch-
Did I have an aversion to touch?
Beats me. I've let go of too many
Could have been and would
Have been moments like that.
These incomplete moments,
That swell in my veins now-
Ready to blast. But for what?
Fresh flowers as homage to
Graveyards in my heart?
And what should I do with
This fragrance of regrets?
Preserve it in another bottle
Of brine? - Pickles to taste again,
In the future when I
Reminisce about these lost
Moments because I overthought
About the consequences?