Poetry and You

I was at the far corner of the room, taking the last sip from my glass of cold beer, when your eyes met mine. And from those eyes, I could read, except for the black veil bride’s ” We don’t belong’, there was nothing in the room we both could relate to. I smile and you smile back and slowly you walk towards me and say “Hello”. And that was the beginning of You, Me and may be a future ‘We’.You loved poets and poetry and I loved that twinkle in your eyes when you talked about them. You then told me ‘Nothing comes out of nothing’ and that poetry would never be good enough until one shed some part of them into it. You showed me your poems. You showed me ‘You’. I knew you were broken, just like me and I liked it. May be because I always imagined how somebody would glue up all my broken pieces together and fill my fissures with a fragment of their soul. And I wanted to do that for you. I wanted to fix you. But you left, leaving behind the poetry you loved so much. Now I write poetry on how I miss you and I make them with the most scarred peel of my skin. I make them with ‘You’.