Monday, December 01, 2008

He saw his own loneliness mirrored in the stranger’s eyes
And he painted in his mind, sorrows of her imagined life
He fell just a little in love with the woman he had conjured
And he wanted to hold her, to fill the spaces empty of love or strife

Later he trivialised the night saying it was impulse and nothing more
And after all, he has acted on his impulses many a times before
What’s the fuss, nothing was lost, while nothing was gained
It’s just a friendship questioned and a friendship strained


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