Noticed you in the coffee shop by your place for the first time. You giggled on the pathetic jokes of the guy who didn’t even hold the door on your way out.
I used to trace the lines made by water dripping from your hair after those evening showers. Only thing I liked about the summers.
You despised the dampness and loved the petrichor. Rains moaned louder than we ever could. So, I stopped shushing you in between.
We watched violet sunsets through the naked trees. Drank cheap whiskey from plastic cups and sneaked kisses on the hilltop guarding the city.
I kept chasing you like a dream that didn’t belong to me. You kept making abstract bridges of sorts to dissolve your dusks into my dawns.
You moved back to your old place. And left more spaces unoccupied in my apartment than before. I hated summers then and I hate them now.
The rains followed the summer you were away, I found out that petrichor is overrated. I kept stepping into the rain just to wash your imprints from my skin.
Dead leaves fell down on the bed made by some zillion more of dead leaves. I took a few girls to coffee shops and never cared to hold the door for them.