at unfamiliar hours of the day
when the second hand ceases to move
and the minute hand gains speed
our moment is lost even before it appears.
these are the lost hours of the in-between,
when our everlasting embers fade to the remnants of a dying fire
and the waning incandescence silently recedes out of the depth of our vision
yet lingers in the breadth of our souls
this is the last drop to fall from the leaf as the morning dew disappears
and the first bell to sound in the morning; the one that gets lost in our sleep.
in between the folds of our silently wrinkled sheets in the same place you
lost me.
where I fell in somewhere deep
deep into the gap between our fears and our intertwined feet
and now I float here, in this lost dimension
the in between of you and me
where at unfamiliar hours of the day
when the second hand ceases motion
and the minute hand gains speed
our moment is lost even before it appears.
Aishwarya Suresh
Originally published in Amaranth