By Gahana Tiwari
No amount of resuscitation brings it back to life,
when you knowingly let a good thing die.
And the faces of phases phase out the truth,
and being hopelessly hopeful does no one good.
Your itch becomes a tick... just a habit you formed,
crawling over your skin like a million tiny worms.
And a heartfelt apology is not a juggernaut,
to feel something that you recently forgot.
It's gone.
You try,
you cry,
you sigh-
eventually,
you dig a grave deep enough
in which you let the good thing die.