But how do I write of us?

I wish to write something which ends with just one word yet with a bang.

So here I am, equipped with a navy blue gel pen, a sun-kissed blanket in a room of chestnut-coloured cushions, an abandoned Peter Pauper journal, the sounds of creaking windows welcoming rays of sunlight, and an instrumental number reminding me of the first time we went out for that sunshiny walk to get some ice-cream.

A lot of times when I write, my thoughts are set on you. Or you. Or her. Or him. Or them. Or us. And us. But definitely, my feelings for you. And you. And her. And him. And them. And us.

And us.

Too often do I not know how I begin. What’s meant to become poetry ends up becoming a short fiction. What’s meant to become fiction ends up becoming a set of midnight monologues.

But why would that even matter when I’m writing about us? When I’m writing of things which can’t be written down anyway? How do anyone even explain the love they have for each other? The love we have for each other? It’s crazy. So beautiful yet so crazy. So crazy that they write songs for the billboard charts and wake up the next morning stroking the hair of their loved ones realizing that the songs they’ve written weren’t even complete. So strong; that love. So strong yet so crazy. So intense yet so crazy. So crazy, that if this was really written about love, you’d know how it would end like.

Bang.