Soft Spot
The last time I held your hands,
They were cold.
That tore me apart when I understood there was no belongingness anymore.
I acknowledge what I lost.
The access to your heart and soul.
Whether your body remained close or not doesn’t matter.
I know I lost that soft spot.
And, I also know what losing means.
I can never recover it though how accessible it might seem.
I lost the premium access to your heart.
The soft spot that used to worship me like a deity.
I stomped upon it and got myself slaughtered.
No more offerings made,
No more flowers.
After losing the soft spot I carry a dark spot in my heart- ever darkening, ever growing -
And, like a blackhole-
I absorb.
I absorb grief like a staple.
The grief of losing a pure soul.
The man of a character and composure.
In you, both dignity and vanity uproars.
And, here I soar in pain.
Whimper in anguish for losing you.
©® Farheen Akter Bhuian Nancy
Timestamp: 11 am, Tagar

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