Tuesday, May 26, 2015

His Shirt

I stole his shirt
It was pristine white
With a few flecks of blue
It wasn’t a pattern
Holding it close
You could see
The inkstains
Fading from age

I held it close
Took it to bed
Contemplated wearing it
Or just snuggling
Right into it
The memory of his smile
Froze my thought process
I ended up
With it dangerously
Wrapped around my head

His smell lingered
I could hear his laughter
In the folds of the collar
Feel his heartbeat
In the nooks of that pocket
The world knew him as the confident man
As his neatly starched cuffs exhibited
But his nervousness lay bare
In the undone buttons
His hidden insecurities
Seeped through the fraying hem
And his mismatched last button
was another story in itself

The shirt looked like any other
Just like he could blend right in the crowd
I knew
Only my heart knew
I could hear his soul speak to mine
And pick his shirt from a thousand
Of the same kind

The inkstains
Fading from age
Were a testimony of his hard work
And no care for style
It wasn’t fancy
Or a big brand
It was special
It was divine
It was his
And he was mine









3 comments:

Pooja Mahimkar said...

His Shirt <3

Archana Chaurasia Kapoor said...

Lovely lines :)
Cheers, Archana - www.drishti.co

Apurva said...

Thank you guys :)