Room no. 41

My tipping heels usually apprise of my presence

But they stop, cease to click outside room no. 41

Outside room no. 41, lurks a tension, of conversations pollinated,

Of hearts that came close,

Of photos, clicked after mere admiration,

Stuck in the film of his camera.

I read somewhere, it’s love if it continues,

It’s a love story if it doesn’t.

I never understood why that was the only room empty everytime we wanted to talk,

Or maybe full,

Full of laughs, hugs, stories of mistakes and merry times.

Those 2 benches, no matter how much moved,

Always have remnants of only 2 people,

One who sat, the other who gazed deep inside,

Her eyes and the folds of her red frock, she wore to that date,

In the rain, under one umbrella, on a wooden bench.

Room no. 41 isn’t just a room,

It’s a spree of thoughts that will always float around.

Something makes me feel it just belongs to the two of us.

All rooms of the college aside,

And the magnetic memories of room no 41,

That somehow always manage to make me stop,

There isn’t anyone waiting, but the thought!

He might be waiting for me, just in case….

It’s like you see me through the eyes of this room

That houses our most beautiful memories.

I believe you stop too sometimes,

The difference is, you will find me waiting.

I might not have you,

But I have the benches,

Room no 41, with our ephemeral name of togetherness,

Etched forever.