Someone or something that once transported you to Elysian and empyrean bliss now doesn’t exist anymore. A lot love and lonely pictures are left behind; the story could be anything. I wrote down words because I learned a new word. Greek is the origin; the feeling is very Indian, and the story is from wherever you are.
Drops of rain
Bliss in your arms
Burning scars as Monsoon thunders.
Hiding in arms
Wind hugging us
Together in bliss
I reach for you empty with pain.
Purples and pinks in the sky
Morning chai with stories untold
Quiet under blues
Pinks or oranges, all colors fade.
Black Coffee and Grey Stories 
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