The thoughts of how is she doing Is she fine Is she able to cope up with her heart break With the chaos at home and the stress of work Is she fine now? I often think of two to three people If they survived the day Swam through the nostalgic days I think if they ate or if they slept well Does that particular friend make them happy But, When we meet I end talking the most And they listen Most of the talks I do are things thats already be said, discussed, concluded but I say them again And they listen I talk of new stuff and they listen I wonder how seeing their face Meeting them in person makes me more selfish Whereas in a silent room all i think is of them Even in the crowd, they happen to cross my mind But I wonder why I turn blank while writing of them but still fill pages with metaphors I struggled to learn once