I left the door open and kept the lights on  in the hallway. Every night when I used to make patterns out of my shadows on rusted walls, I heard footsteps on the hallway. I used to sit motionless staring at the door but there was only impressions of the cold wind curling up around the corner of my room.

I had started drawing blurred blue lines on the delusions of your presence around me. My own self was gasping for breathe inside my head. And then there were days when I stopped searching for the lost face of you in the crowd. I stopped nurturing you in my drunken designs of future. A homeless addiction was growing inside me like a mute infant which I couldn’t ignore even if I chose to.

Evenings when I came back to closed doors and half lit hallways I did stop in front of your door. I left those notes which you never picked up. But I scribbled one line of random poetry behind those blue papers. Some stayed with me, some I dropped at your door . Some you might have carelessly picked up, or some just slipped under your white rug.

Maybe one night when the cloud will drift away from the half hearted moon, you will pick them up and trace the words with your cold fingers.
Maybe you will follow the wind down to my door. I promise, I  will keep my door half open.
Maybe we can put together those pieces of random poetry.
And by the time the night ends, what if you find a reason to come back again?