The train rushed past lush fields and dilapidated villages,
why don't you ever say it back she asks, I don't reply—the silence hangs in the air. Maybe it's because I don't know what it means, maybe I'm just not sure. It was just 3 words after all.
She snuggles closer, I'm glad she isn't mad.
I knew then that I wouldn't trade that moment for anything. Her hair smells of flowers, her presence makes me feel warm and fuzzy on the inside."I love you" I say. She smiles—a small price to pay.
She always wanted a road trip for a honeymoon.
The rain fell heavily on the road in front of me, the car smelt of her, I could sense her beside me, the fuzzy feeling was back.
Her kiss caught me off guard then so did the truck.
It rained at the funeral.
I could smell the flowers, she was there in front of me—in a glass case, as beautiful as ever, but it was like the fuzzy feeling had died.
The tears never came, neither did love or happiness.
Ever again.
About the Creator
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More stories from Gandharv Hasith Kumar and writers in Poets and other communities.
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