Fragments of Us

By Godhuli Dutta

I remember when your touch felt infinite, like time held its breath.
Now the moments slip between the cracks of what’s been left.
You were the sun, but even light bends to shadows of regret,
And I’m standing still, though the earth spins on without a net.

You asked me once, “What’s the meaning of this ache we bear?”
I had no words—just silence hung in the heavy air.
Now I see your face in the corners of a dream undone,
Like a question asked of the night when it greets the sun.

And it started slowly, like whispers on the edge of dawn—
A quiet unravelling of the life we’d built upon.
Now the best of us is scattered like ash in the breeze,
And I’m searching for myself in the spaces between.
Who were we, and who are we now?

In your absence, I’ve become a stranger to my own name—
A philosopher tracing circles in the ashes of the flame.
We were lovers, but love’s weight can crush what it can’t contain.
Now the echoes of your laughter haunt the spaces we once claimed.

You said, “Maybe freedom’s found in breaking every chain.”
But what’s the point of freedom if it only births more pain?
I’ve been chasing ghosts on roads that lead me nowhere near—
A thousand miles an hour, but I’m stuck in second gear.

And it ended slowly, like rain dissolving into stone—
A quiet surrender to the solitude of the unknown.
Now the pieces fall like petals from a flower we couldn’t keep,
And I’m searching for the meaning in the silence when I sleep.
Who were we, and who are we now?

Somewhere in the wreckage, there’s a truth we left behind—
A reflection of two strangers searching for the same sunrise.
Are we merely actors in a play that no one wrote?
Or poets in a world that’s indifferent to the notes?

When I look at you, I still see the spark we couldn’t name—
A flicker in the void where nothing ever stays the same.
And as we fade, I wonder if the best things ever stay,
Or if love is just a season, destined always to decay.
Who were we, and who are we now?

Who the hell are we?