Musing.

Shakespeare said the third stage was being a sighing furnace, 

Yes indeed, he sighed. 

Lost in her thoughts, musing, 

He cried.

Cursing every tear she'd shed, 

For every ignorant word he said.

From far away he watched her slay.

As she had fallen, now he fell.

Loathing every Romeo and Juliet he saw,

Hating the very idea of love.

Yet, falling even deeper in her thoughts 

He felt.

What he should've felt a long long time ago...

Ritvik Sharma