I’m not looking for love. But if you can give me things I’m not looking for, you’re still welcome here.
I have a place I could rent out. It craves you. It’s dark, but it’s smells nice and I have a feeling you’ll like it. ( Something tells me you’ve already been here. Have you, now? )
I look around and I don’t understand what people are doing. Do you see people holding hands? Is it just on the outside or do their souls cling to each other, too? I wonder if this is what they call love, because I’m not looking for it.
Tell them I have a place I could rent out. It craves truth. It’s dark, but it smells nice and I have a feeling they’ll like it. (Something tells me that they have a similar place of their own but it’s not vacant anymore)
When was the last time we met? What did it feel like? I remember us dancing to rock music and the first time I felt alive.
Yes, I think I now remember the last time you visited the place I have for rent. I think you left a bit of yourself here. It craves emotion. It’s dark and it reeks of you and me. Love shall come at its convenience, but this place- it’s called my Soul and I know, this time we’re here to stay.
// Sanjukta Bhowal //