I slept in the train on the day I left home
I slept on the couch at her place all alone
We took silly pictures with unselfish smiles;
embraced for too long and then muttered “Good Night”
A lot to confess, even more to leave out;
there are lots of silence in doubt
I’m too scared to be with
a studied psychologist
For fear of transparency
I’m too scared to be.
When she went down under to study abroad
we barely bowed out, but that wasn’t her fault.
A talk in the kitchen, we later dragged out
in bits and in pieces when her mum left the house.
An autograph left in her autograph book
for all the belongings I took.
And we all confess sometimes
for the soothing of the talk
I’m afraid of the reply
but to be honest, aren’t we all?
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