Misdiagnosed


Visit a doctor, they said.
I’d miss her.
I’d cry.
Weep.
Scream.

I tried to find her.
In soaring clouds,
In shooting stars,
In empty rooms,
In romantic books.
Anthropomorphism, he said.

I’d listen to her voice,
In gushing wind,
In chirping birds,
In melodious songs,
In busy crowds.
Anacusis, he exclaimed.

I tried to hold,
Her fragile fingers,
Her wild heart,
Her divine soul,
Her irrestible body.
Love, the doctor sighed;

-Parth Bhatia (www.facebook.com/wordsiwishiwrote)

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