I see her tears as drops of water trickling down a cup of a pale shade. I see her hands tied up with grief like they are chained with expectations of the impossible. She wasn’t hard to love, all she wanted was a rope of empathy. I couldn’t see what hell she went through just to be mine. I couldn’t see the thirst she had of making me happy. I couldn’t see how persistently she coped up with my flaws, my anger, my inconsistency, my vulnerability to get stray. I couldn’t tell her I am not ready to catch her when she falls. I was driven by society. I didn’t make her my friend because she was just an element of a relation for me. I didn’t regret at my weaknesses because I was complacent. She expected me to go out of the flow but I was happier in following the threads of society. Once for a moment I did not think about her strength. I stretched her like a rubber band expecting it to go as further as I wanted to take it, and she stretched limitlessly. I stretched whispering her not to worry, you have to go as far as you can. You are made for me. But I can’t do anything about myself, nor I can regret at my flaws. Because it’s me. Its the society. Its the pleasure. Its the way. I cannot swallow the bitter tablet of loving you. I cannot go out of the way because I deserve the ease and you must swallow it only as you have to.