Her

Love,
The word which has haunted poets for centuries now,
What is love?
I won't squander time trying to describe love,
But I'd rather tell you about a lady.
She was the aesthetic beauty on whom sonnets and ballads could be written,
She was so alluring that I could spend hours trying to sum her up in worldy words only to fail miserably
She was the most hauntingly beautiful girl I've ever seen, and that was least interesting thing about her.
For you know, she was like a jar of fireflies,
Captivating when kept together
Mesmerizing when one escapes.
She was like the last train on the station
She came when i had lost all hope
And she carried me to the most beautiful of destinations.
She was like the smile of a stranger
Inquisitive at first,
But was definitely worth the risk.
She was like that lonely cigarette
Knowing that it would always be there
To smoke away the pain.
She was the packet of my favorite chocolate
Making me smile at the least possible times
Just by being who she is.
She was the dawn,
With a gentle stroke dismissing the massive darkness of my heart
She was the muffled laughter in an office meeting




Misplaced, mis-timed but untamed.
She was the flower kept in that old book
Fragile on the above but carrying an ocean of memories inside
She was the doodle at the end of the notebook
Not perfect in design but carrying the deepest of interpretations
She was the favorite novel
Every time you read it, you love it even more.

More than everything
She was her
A haunting mystery for this monotonous world
A splendid poem written in a different verse.

Much like love
Because for me, she was the closest to the word.