You were going back
I would have to wait for the reason
You talked relentlessly about the weather
I noted that only old people talk about weather
You said you were old and you were re-starting your life at 27
I said I re-started when I was 24
You said 3 years is a crucial difference...
What really happened in a week?
I cannot possibly know
You were talking about the weather because you said to talk about anything else was painful
I could not guess what pain it was
You looked sad putting up a brave face
I was sad and did not know how I looked
Did you count the number of times we met?
I often term them as meets and not dates
Lately you often looked impatient in those meets
I was so glad to meet you that I deferred the Paul Austeresque investigations
You perhaps wanted me to enquire
I perhaps should have been less hesitant- more forceful in my inquiry
You guided our conversations to me, Tagore, Ray, Calvino, Madame Bovary ...
I never steered them away to you
You gave me a poem to write
I should have made you the poem of my life
To 'You' and Paul Auster
