I again met you at my favourite
Museum before we kissed and
Went to our homes.
I reached at my place
Having a mug of my coffee in my hand
Under the Parisian sky,
I found your face up there.
Simultaneously, I opened my journal,
picked up my pen, and started writing
Where you picked up my broken pieces
And how I loved you as whole.
As if the story out of it
Is trying something to be told.
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