Dating-ish, 2023

 It was in the almost-summer of a Chennai January 

That I met A. 

He borrowed my green correcting pen 

I told him I taught history 

We fell quickly into an intimacy from which 

we didn't quite recover. 

I met the Coffeeholic 

On the cold front steps of a Himalayan dorm. 

"I like your hair," she said. It was bright blue at the time.

We planned a hike the next day

But it rained and I left. 

She had great taste in music. 

Am I into women? I wondered, a tad too long. 

M was an aberration. 

Sometimes you fall for your best friend

Out of sheer boredom. 

Fear. 

Desperation, maybe? 

Sorry M. You deserved better. 

And finally, The Artist. 

The anarchist. The goofy adorable overthinker. 

This one hurt. 

Only because when I first met him, briefly, 

12 years ago

His hair was all I could think about. Ringlets that bounced.

We were older now, but still

Promises, almost teenager-y in their loftiness,

were made.    

I don't remember you, he said

But I couldn't forget his hair.

It stayed in focus as he faded out.