Sometimes

The very sound of breathing to me

Is cacophony.

My heart races

My blood becomes cold

And I start to crumble

Crumble like a biscuit.

Fat tears roll down

My cheeks

I shut myself

From the world.

This missing you

This craving you

It is not a good feeling,

Krishna.

In fact

It is the worst

This feeling of dying

This feeling of losing myself.

But I've not spent these eternities

Without learning a few tricks

Of my own.

I lose myself completely

In you, Krishna.

And unlike before,

I could do this

Forever.