– Aparna Chatterjee

Staring outside the window,
Feeling the wind as it blows,
The aroma of our favorite pizza house fills up my nose.
My mind goes to the time before we drifted apart,
Old triggers die hard.

An inquisitive stare, a curious look,
I could tell if you liked something or were shaken.
Flabbergasted how things fell apart,
Old triggers die hard.

Was it a word or a phrase you used?
I knew you didn’t get me, and neither would I.
Reclaiming my anarchy has now become a tedious task.
Old triggers die hard.

It is not the songs; it is not the warmth.
Neither is it, the issues we never dealt with.
It’s snippets of memories and sensations I get.
Not when I am lonely but in a crowded place.
Trying to be present as hard as I can.
Old triggers do die hard.