Pens and Pages

I let you go like some old habits of mine- Checking your Facebook profile every minute I touch my phone, Reading our old messages for signs that would tell you don't love me anymore, Putting a burning cigarette in my mouth every time I thought of you, Exhaling the smoke every time I realized you aren't with me. But such are the habits that do not die- You come back to me one more time, You collide with me on a busy street on some Saturday morning, looking at someone else's photos from that phone in your hand; I let you go like the wine of Venice I swear I would never drink again, I let you go like the promise of never writing a poem again Yet I hold a new bottle of wine dearly in Vienna, A few blank pages and a new pen sit by my side in the cold nights when I would sit in a train and try hard not to think of you. But such are the ways with thoughts- When I close the doors, they find a new window to come in, Rotten like the smell of the dried fish you used...

Mist In the air, Thinning out As it travels Inside your soul. You let it out, Too soon. You don't Let it affect The words Your lungs breathe. You float For some seconds, Ephemeral. Later, You sink in, You let yourself drown. Mist In the air. Now you're one. The air outside. The air inside. You're the mist you breathe. In every breath You take It is his name. He says The air that infuses And permeates your soul. You're the mist Who lost its identity. You're the mist You breathed in.