an end

at times like these
what come to mind
are the strangest of things,
you'd think I was deeper
but I think
of things so random,
your nose,
your face when you looked at me
as I watched that movie,
I think of the coffee book
and that song you quoted
in Bengali,
of your message on my writing board,
that sheet you used to snatch away

do you too?

I wonder if
your eyes were open
or scrunched shut
when you said
it had to be over,
now that I think of it,
I don't even know
what you look like
when you're in trouble
or when you are surprised
or so many other things

it's been so little

you'd think I'd be better
now that it's been thrice,
but would it mean a thing
if I said
this is different?
can you believe
that someday
there will be memories
of the plans
and not the maroon
curtains themselves?
will you ever go to see
the Big Ben?
will you think of me
when you see a rabbit?