2 A.M.

Flow of time had chiselled away,
at his wizened pale face,
ravaging it with careful patience.

Laying awake in a wrinkled body,
With eyes that lost the flicker,
His mind ran at a speed of 170.

A train of thoughts- memories,
Didn't make sense; nuisance.
Intruded by whooping cough,

Reaches for the bedside,
Spills it over the drawer, instead.
Oozing through a red envelope.

In big bold letters, it read:
"Open when you forget me."

The feeble hand moves in,
Attempting to remove a crinkled yellow.
Calligraphic parchment and photos.

Like a motion picture,
It ran before his cloudy eyes.
Him, her and their happier times.

Younger, better and eidetic.
Looking lovingly at her, adorning.
At parks, cars, cafes and home.

Under a old Juniper tree,
They lay, playing scrabble, young.
When she wrote this to him.

Picture after picture,
Like a puzzle getting complete,
He recalled her, finally.

The world weary woman,
He screamed at earlier; 11P.M.
Outing her as a trespasser.

Throwing her out, in the cold.
She left without a sound.
Wife; they call her.

Takes the calligraphic parchment,
Amidst his slippery fingers,
Uses his glasses to read.

Simple words; Bold and clear.
"I'll still love you," stands out.
"When you forget me."