When she played chess

When she touched the pieces
With her little fingers with unpolished but neatly-cut nails
The chess board was growing into something nebulous
Something that melts down and evolves into a private journal
Where only the two of us are privileged to write on
Or a telephone circuit throughout this country
On which our conversations of two years still lingers

I told her, chess is similar to life
Unprecedented events can occur in a moment
But there always seems to be chances of recovery

She laughed like a kid who has just learned a new beautiful trick
When she made a wrong move
Maybe she laughed to show the world that she is still fine
Despite the mistakes being made
Maybe she laughed because she was with the person she wants to be with

I took her knight, she took my bishop
Then she said I have three pieces out of the game and she has four
Which means she is losing?
It was then struck me if we were making each other lose in a very limited time of life
My eyes migrated from the board to her staring eyes
To let them pass through every vein I have
To record them for every suffocating evening she will be away

Before I did not finish absorbing sights of her into my living memories
She had a good excuse and she left
The game, unfinished
Pieces of chess, intact
With neither of us lost