Love as old as time and as elusive as a fleeting dream is a paradox wrapped in mystery, for it is both destructive and constructive. In Jasmines In Her Hair by Kalpesh Desai, love is depicted as a fading constellation, with its light growing dimmer with each passing day.
Love is a fleeting moment that resonates deep within the soul and leaves us adrift in the sea. A love that was–so gentle and kind now jagged and scattered like fragile glass. A love that was–a constant reminder of what once was. For what is love without its lingering memories?
The place where I stand, waiting for you,
Is where we once stood too.
Standing on the same precipice we once shared paints a vivid picture of the love that was. The place where we once stood together, our solitary spot, echoes a bittersweet reminder of the laughter, dreams, and promises we once made. It evokes longing and desire to return to the time when love was vibrant and alive. At the ruins of a once-grand palace, I cling to the remnants of our withered love, grieving its former glory. In the place where we once stood, it dawned upon me–our spot stayed the same, but we did not. I find myself yearning to turn back the clock–to feel the warmth of your hand, hear your laughter, and see your eyes sparkle with love. But time, like a relentless river, flows forward, reminding us that we must too.
That moon gazing down upon me,
Perhaps seek you out, too, across the sea.
Standing here, where we once stood, a silent testament to a love that was. A love that was once as bright as the stars, a celestial body that illuminated the darkest corners of my soul. As you gaze upon the moon, a silent witness to our love, I wonder, do you feel the same bittersweet longing? This place, our sanctuary, where we once talked about life, love, and dreams, is now a ghost of its former self, shrouded with vicious memories–each one a reminder of what once was. A love that was, now lost in the vast expanse of time, a constellation of memories, twinkling brightly but out of reach.
And nights like these,
That remind me of broken promises,
Sealed with our first kiss.
At nights like these, the atmosphere seems to shudder with echoes of our laughter, whispered secrets, and dreams painted on the canvas of the night sky. I am drawn to a flickering flame, lured back to this spot, the hallowed ground of our love. The familiar scent of the street we once wandered, the gentle rustle of leaves we once sat under, and the distant yet close hum of the city–all serve as poignant reminders of a time when our hearts beat as one. The longer I stayed in our spot, the heavier the weight of what could have been, a bittersweet symphony of "what ifs" and "if only." As I relive the moments when our love was brimming with hope, I yearn for your presence. But as I gaze at the night sky, I realize that such a wish is as fleeting as the relentless tide that has carried us far from that idyllic shore.
A love that was–a dream that's fled, now buried dead and cold. As I stand in here, reliving all those clandestine dusks, I find solace in knowing that our love, though dimmer, will never vanish. Despite the loss and despair, it is a love that will forever linger in our souls–a bittersweet symphony of what could have been but never was.
by Franzel Daleon