30. The ides of May

It might have been a March or May,

When my heart was in peace with the bay.


You came to my world like a tempest,

And ended up writing a tale of love, indeed the youngest.


Before you flew, into thousand fragments you shattered my heart.

Now I am putting the pieces back together part after part.


Even with all the parts intact, in the center remains an enormous hole;

A spot that once held what kept me alive, my poetic soul.


-Rithin. 

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