I was in Love.

I was in love.
The kind where you surrender your insecurity at the mercy of the other,
hoping they would hide it with their affections.
The kind where you could tell from their sigh what exactly they were feeling.

I was in love, 
the kind where you can tell how their day went by the tilt of their head,
the kind where you could predict their moods for the ice cream flavour they craved.

I was in love,
the kind where I could feel his night mares in my dreams,
the kind, where you get vulnerable to an extent where the scars are merely transparent glasses which show the heart,
the kind where you feel no power yet fulfilled when they exists in your sphere. 

I was in love,
the kind where I could read his eyes and tell what his mind was thinking,
the kind where I could predict his words and yet stay silenced only to hear it in his voice.

I was in love with someone,
who only existed in my dreams.
for that kind of love only exists in books,
which are written by mad men like me.  

Pritha Krishna