You ask me where you stand in my life, after you have walked out of it.
You ask me whether you still strike a chord in me, after you have cut all the strings.
You ask me whether I can reach out to you, after you have amputated my hands.
You ask me why can’t you see me after you have shut me out from your life.
You ask me the questions which were answered by you long ago.
My dearest, one can’t suffer the legacy one leaves behind.