I go there, only to come back.

I think may be I’m just a missed call.
Or your tint of your nostalgia,
On a bad hair day.
But for me, you are the world.

And in this world;
With a rusted telescope, I see;
The unseen joys of yesterdays.
In the pile of cherished gifts, I see;
My grave misgivings.
In the smell of shared pajamas, I sense;
The guilt of my fuzzy whims.
In the wilted roses you had left behind, I see,
The thorns of my juvenile tantrums.

May be I’m just the clock by the bedside.
Or the story from growing up years,
You narrate to your children.
But for me, you are quite the world.

And in this world;
With a dimmed lamp shade, I see;
The idiocy of my utopian dreams.
In those lusty fantasies, I sense;
My failure to sculpt realistic goals.
On my ticklish nipple, I sense;
The pain of pleasures I denied
In my incessant questioning, I see;
The pettiness of my voyeuristic mind.

Maybe iam just a signboard on the highway.
Or may be a muddy pathway,
You took on a muddled day.
But for me, you are the world.

And in this world;
With an old abacus to my help, I see;
The words and promises I minced.
In the charming bed time stories we own, I sense
The characters craving for happy endings.
In our extravagant declarations of love, I see
A lack of integrity to carve our future.
In your perturbed silences, I sense
My inability to know the real you.
In your naïveté smile and simplistic gestures, I sense
My failure to give love the way you wanted me to.

May be iam just an old mushy email,
Or a short lived muse for your words.
But for me, you are the inspiration for life.
For eternal hope.
For me, you are quite the world.