Ode to the man of my imperfect imagination.

Ode to the man who had his reasons. The reasons he shall never tell and the reasons I shall never know. 

The man who hated my questions of would or could have beens,

The man who pushed me to go see the world and be the best of what I could possibly be,

The man who shall remain buried in my memories, and the world shall never know about.

The man I liked and disliked with all my heart. One who is the most perfect version of my imperfect imagination.

If we shall ever meet again. I don't expect you to reciprocate. 

Because, you and I. We have tortured each other with our liking as much as we have enjoyed our time together.

Ours was a war, between two people who, maybe loved or liked each other,

But, equally shattered each other at every instance.

Crossing oceans,

Living in a different country,

A different city,

A different time zone,

Should have done wonders.

As they say 'out of sight out of mind.'

For any species.

But, here I am,

Still bothering to wonder,

What was wrong in the almost right thing we had,

Or, if anything was ever right in the (wrong) thing we shared!