Sputtering and clanking, stopped the old car,

From a foreign land it came suggested the dust,

But as I noticed on it meekly from afar,

I realized it wasn't dirt but sickening rust.

The rust made me think hard,

Was there a time when it was brand new?

Like you pick from a deck a new card,

Spots and marks on it are but few,

"Yes ofcourse", I said to myself,

Everything was once handsomely young,

But it also has a life of the shelf,

Where old become the songs that are sung,

The withered tires took a deep breath,

They thanked that the journey came to an end,

But alas, has gone their once shiny wealth,

That they though they could forever spend,

As soon as I came out of this thought,

I saw a person picking its lock,

Who would steal it in a state so wrought?

A better choice is to steal a rock,

When no one thought it could ever start,

The car roared in a manner fake,

When everyone thought it was worth tearing apart,

Another ride with destiny it had to take. 

Image taken from: http://static2.businessinsider.com/image/58499652ba6eb67d058b824c/these-eerily-empty-street-photos-show-how-different-new-york-city-was-in-the-crime-ridden-1970s.jpg

The Face

To the hour of words,

The ailment of mind,

Staggering like herds,

Thought well left behind,

If all but one,

The pieces of mine,

Could beat the sun,

The clutches that shine,

The Heart ever broken,

The Mind, so impeding,

The tongue, outspoken,

The pen be bleeding,

The honor of a lie,

Can't keep the pace,

Such shame to die,

Without seeing your face. 

She sat there and looked up at me. I looked up. She looked down. I looked down. I think she looked back up. We didn't know whether to say hi to each other or not.The same awkwardness had dictated most of our interactions in the past. Friends? Or something more? A thought that had crossed both of our minds a plethora of times, however each of those times, no one had the audacity to look at the other with such a question in mind let alone ask it out. As I tried to become more absorbed in my book, my mind traversed towards her thought. She was right in front of me yet I didn't say a word. I then understood why libraries were kept silent; had they been a place for socialization, I would have had the right reasons to talk to her. The library was hence the perfect place to let me look at her and live the best moments of my life without letting her know. And maybe, just maybe, her case was the same too. The words on the book made lesser sense than those imprinted on the heart. I was reading something, I just didn't know what. Tearing through my heart, however was eternal peace. I realized that I may never have the guts to walk up to her and tell her that I love her. However, at the same time, I realized that I was in love. Crazily. Madly. Idiosyncratically. I realized that love was permanent. It wasn't meant to be temporary. My heart still searches for your scent. It all happened in the library.