Sense of an Ending

The sea was incessant
For last four days.
Rushing, tip-toeing -
It kept me company,
Uncannily knowing I
There is a warmth
In sands
That soak in sunrise
And give in to sunset.
One could bury his face
And find a comforting
I would look at the stars
And reminisce our
Happy times.
There are hardly any patient listeners
than waves.
They keep coming back
To the same stories.
Weeks pass
And months wait.
People do not come back
But wind does.
It is only then
Emptiness beams
And at times, comforts.
In the midst of lonesomeness
One realizes -
In the end, what is love
If not a little measure of loss.


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