Bitter fever

We terribly failed at keeping our word 

For I hardly love petrichor anymore,

You least like sunrises from the hills

We don't fight over who loves more

And they rarely ask how we've been.

The wind in your hair demands no attention

My impertinent utterance order no listening.

We both albeit have parted our ways long ago

You under your roof, me stuffed in the realms 

Our greasy tale needs no retelling.

Our mucky, filthy tale.  

~Prat.

A random street in Bangalore.