A fluttering paper

My pen hovers over a fluttering paper,
trying to fulfill his final request--
a final goodbye,
a letter which captures the moments
we spent together.

It's not that words have abandoned me,
it's just that they will never suffice
to capture my expectations
and my dissipated prudence.
It's not that my muse has deserted me,
it's just that she is in lurch herself on
how to desist divulging my delusion,
my love and my self-deception.

The kaleidoscope of memories plays,
each affirming what my heart had ignored.
Our relation never existed--
it was just a fragment
of my romantic imagination;
my mind's wild apparition.
It was just a desperate attempt
of my suffocating desire
to resurge once more.

So, here I sit--trying to humorize
our not-so-necessary meetings,
attempting to tone down
my extravagant emotions--
with a pen hovering over a fluttering paper.


I realize that humorize is not a correct word but it is what suited best for the sentence, so I have maintained its use.