Every evening, I sit down and keep looking at the front gate through my window. It has become sort-of a ritual now. Grab a cup of coffee, open the window, sit down and wait. I wait for you to open the gate and walk through it like you always did. I wait for flowers and poetry, and childish giggles. I wait till the coffee cup is empty and it is too dark outside for the gate to be visible anymore. Then I get up, only to do it all over again the next day.

I wait for you everyday, but the truth is, there is no you and there is no walking in. There are no giggles and no poetry in the air. There is just the closed gate mocking me through the window.

Its funny how life operates - it amazes me, how it gives and takes all at the same time - during the same day, at the same moment, it gives someone so much happiness and takes every ounce of it from the other.