She wrote about him all the time,

she never mentioned his name again,

she wrote about her love and her lust,

she wrote not taking any needed breaks.

She just wrote about her sadness,

about his absence and her bereavement,

she wrote to extract all from memories,

to erase him from her suffering mind,

she wrote to welcome solitude at last.

Still, it was no use, her memory revived him,

her time with him became stronger,

he was somehow engraved in her mind,

while every cell in her yearning body,

doggedly craved their reunion with his,

under old bridges of stone over dark rivers,

on long trodden steps under forgotten portals...