Reservoir Of Affection

I am broke, I have no coasters to keep under my mugs of coffee

I have always been clumsy.

Spilled coffee has made more rings on the tablecloth than excuses I have made for blacking out in the mid of a conversation.

'Cause for some reason the need to explain my behaviour has fizzled out.

My tablecloth is torn in certain spots.

I am broke, I have no money to buy a new one.

I have always been in seek of warmth.

Warmth that comes from eyeing the torn spots of an old tablecloth for hours,

And it’s queer how despite of this warmth, all my meals end up getting cold.

I had a bonsai plant by the window sill, that withered six month ago.

I have not stopped watering it.

I believe in giving love, even if it goes nowhere close the person it is meant for.

Maybe my bonsai plant didn’t wither out, maybe it rotted due to over watering.

I don't like dressing up much now.

It's been ages I have not colour coordinated my outfits and footwear.

I have always loved a jacket that once belonged to a man I loved.

It is ripped now.

I do not know what is ripped beyond repair now, the jacket or my emotions for its owner.

Every night when I go to bed, I see a strange figure lurking in the dark.

I am not afraid of it.

In fact we are friends now.

It is my reservoir of affection.

It is from where comes the strength to spill coffee everyday and adorn my tablecloth with one more ring each morning.

It is from where comes the courage to water my bonsai each morning, the patience to stare at the torn portions of my tablecloth, the perseverance to eat cold meals each day and night.

Each night it reminds me of severity of my anxiety.

Each night it accustoms me to the fathoms of my insecurities that have now taken the form of a smile.

A smile that never leaves my face.

And you all set limits for my affection as if you hold the reservoir where it comes from.

So each day I wake up to brew more coffee, and weave more opinions into stories.

As I water my old bonsai, I dole out nervousness.

I wear my old lover's jacket and I stare at the tablecloth.

And as I do all of this, I fill my reservoir of affection yet I empty it a little at same time.