Her pics. This urge to
Scream her name.
The butterflies in the
Stomach that want to
Manifest but don't want to
Make anything obvious-
There's pic of an old man
Walking away in my gallery.
And of a wrapper of
Cadbury dairy milk.
A leaf of mango and
A discarded pen I found
When I was walking her
To the library.
This urge to scribble
Her name in the last page,
But it goes only till 'S' to
To become something else.
I realize. These pics are
The moments I steal as
Souvenirs around my
Feelings for her.
Random, hopeless and
Not so loud pics-
An attempt to hide my
Longing, even from myself.
Yet this urge to preserve
Her presence-
The 'S' that became
'Seagull' in my pen name.
The unsung part is the 'P.S'
That hides the things
My backspace couldn't.