An Ode To If Only

Note: This post has been co-written by P13 and Lady Jughead.

If only my tears would dry a bit quicker

My heart would surely cease to feel sicker

The fear, the anguish, the pain and sighs

Would wither away, perish, extinguish and die.

If only it was easier done than said

I’d force my heart to bow down to my head

Then my will would yet again be free

Slipping out of her grasp, it’ll come back to me.

If only I wasn’t left burnt and bitter

Things to me would’ve been a lot clearer

I long to put my faith in change

But I’m buried too deep in a feeling so strange.

If only I didn’t have to tread with caution

Or try to be wary of showing emotion

Maybe I could reopen the door to risk

And surrender to yet another precious kiss.

If only my will was intact and not broken

I’d seek new promises filled with conviction

I don’t crave for a short-lived rebound

Or a cosy experiment, lest I fool around.

If only we measured love by fullness and not reception

To every lover, this is the hardest perception

My wounded heart might learn to beat for another

And a path to harmony would be discovered together.

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Lady Jughead lives and writes in the city she loves and hates, Bombay. Without meaning to and harbouring mixed feelings about it (You’ll see the irony in just a bit), she’s forever wandering in the murkiness that exists between straight and gay, clear and clueless, butch and femme, cute and hot, and genius and insane. All of which leave her with a question that often occupies a significant portion of her cognitive capacity – is she Just Perfect or is she falling fast into the deep chasm of obscurity called Just Average?
Lady Jughead

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