Plagued by Memories

When the monsoon returns this year, Will the tears fall again, as they did before? Will sorrow once more breach the dam of my heart, Spilling cold drops that mirror the rain? With every breeze, your warmth brushes past— Not real but remembered. Today, once again, I turn the brittle pages of my diary, Each line a wound still whispering your name. No matter how much it rains, My tears can’t reach her heart— Slippery as the leaf of a gourd, She slips from every grasp of memory. This storm of pain has no forecast, Yet it brings a strange, relentless satisfaction: My diary, soaked in ink and ache, Is the only proof that I am still alive. I watched her fade—day by day, A ghost becoming a goodbye— And I could not stop her. I am the stone that shattered Trying to dam the river of time, Scattered—here, there, everywhere— Like stars too dim to guide, Like clouds with no thunder. I’ve become a riddle of broken parts, So fragmented, it might be easier to gather the stars Than piece myself back together. She was a chapter in my book, But without her, the story bleeds ink and silence. And on the stage of this life, I am a character fading into the backdrop, Colored by memories I cannot forget.