Writing a memoir

There's a purgatorial break between these stretches
…flaxen against the lights
that guard the rain dipped floors,
a fine café filling the sides holds the dance bar
glowing like a photo where I'm holding you. 
What am I to you–the air speaks,
Norah Jones is playing on the stereo.
A cat is sleeping in the light wind,
and I'm sitting on a bench wearing your anklets thinking
this feels a little unspeakable. When the day's over 
I'm somewhere else–I'm dangling my feet in gossamer water
slow-caressing the streams when
there's so much on my mind,
this isn't quite easy to understand
but these tides are silken and lonely
so they are blue. I think of you.
What a sweet rush leaves this earth
as someone switches the music somewhere,
those days are over, I think
that's the truth–all that's over now.
All the world is soft somehow,
as I kneel a little to pick a petal
floating on the lotus, free. There's a lot more that I could say
but right now is a good time to leave things
as they are
because I don't belong there anymore.
I've moved away and departed
into the falls–writing a memoir, eating a berry,
forgetting you slowly.

Snata Basu is a writer based in Dhaka, Bangladesh. Her poetry has appeared on numerous literary platforms including The Opiate, Visual Verse: An Online Anthology of Art and Words, and Small World City.