Faded pink peeks out of blue's canopy,
Sniffing the same as the decade ago; An old friend of nostalgia reaches out,
And the head swims into the blue of pink.
Not the same one, but similar enough,
Enough to make the erratic heart thump; Strange halls lead to familiarity,
Yet it's all just mind games in the mind's games.
Vision blurs as grey-black smoke in the air, Watering the head with intimacy;
Easier to swim back than to swim in, The blue is blue again, the pink dead now.
Author: Shriya Simran Pradhan
Editor: Zoyah Virani