Sometimes I lay here outlining an imprint on the pillow.
Wishing you here with me.
You would read books to me.
Wearing your glasses.
Press me a kiss.
Till I take the book away.
Make you forget what you were saying.
With forceful laps.
It's been days since I have heard from you.
This is what I get to think about.
Through winds and cycles of me and you.
17 years in the making.
As always been.
Me over here... you over there.