Fluorescence.

When you are almost 30,

You could tell that confirmed best-friend over scotch,

Whose golden tint you had learned to respect,

Under whose caress we are all abled.

You could him that I was a mistake,

A quintessential wreck.

Like it was a garb teenage girls stitched for rehearsals.

When you are almost 40,

You could hold the wife in your embrace,

Filled with warmth of kindness and stability,

Happiness would be trivialized and comfort prioritized.

You could tell her that I was a phase.

Which you mindlessly ventured into.

Like maps of our beings are voyages instead.

When you are older,

You could reminiscence,

With anyone who would care,

Age would make others slowly withdraw.

You could tell them of a story,

About a woman who is now a narrative.

Somehow surviving decades in your memories.

But to me,

You would be an embellishment.

Right now and for ever,

I will write you and

Your lifetime off in my imaginations.

You as a narrative would not be painted

In the backdrop of hurt.

My fluorescence would transcend.

Like it does time, in your memory.