Tag: Memories

Some more time

It is never easy to accept that good times shall be over quickly. It is more painful when one realizes that there are fewer days left than one imagined.

I feel so bad for myself. It took me long to accept this place. By the time I began to love it, it is time to go back. The happy times, warm welcomes, greetings, smiles, games, jokes, laughter, excitement and many more emotions will now be memories. I shall probably never see some people I love so much ever again. The kids I play with daily will forget me when they grow up. It will soon be past, no matter how golden.

Yes, I will move on in life. I will embrace new beginnings. I will usher another phase of life, probably in a different country miles away from here or home. I will meet new people. But will I ever meet people as lovely as these? Nobody can love me as they do. The very thought that I have only 60 days left gives me goosebumps. The happiest times had only just begun. I had just started to live my life to the fullest. It now dawns on me that this is only a matter of few days. It will be over in a jiffy, once and for all.

Love is our biggest strength. It is tragic to part with our loved ones. I wish it was easier. There were times I wanted it to end too soon. Now, I would give anything I have in order to make it last longer. I don’t want it to get over. Time, please stop. Please. Let me live these moments before they become memories.

If only I got some more time.

Unconditional love

She missed him so much it hurt. For her, he was hope, love, happiness and courage. She did not know how they were related and she wanted it to be the same way. It hardly mattered because she loved him and that was enough.

No, they were not dating each other. He was an important part of his life. Maybe he was her best friend, father figure, confidant or all of these. She trusted him. She liked being around him; he was her only shade in a sunny land. He hadn’t been around for ten days and she waited for him to return desperately.

She would often go to meet him. They would laugh and joke. He would know when she felt low. He always asked her to express her feelings. He would always listen. There was something magnetic about his personality- everyone would be dazzled by his aura. But he was different. He would never give in to flattery. He had a knack to know people for what they were. He also knew how much she liked him. He had his own indirect ways of expressing his affection.

Over time, she felt she had developed a special connection with him. Coincidentally, they would bump into each other at some random place. Those were the moments she wouldn’t know how to react. Once he asked her why she looked so happy. She innocently told him that it was because she met him so unexpectedly. He would smile and go ahead on his way. She would then recount the tale to her diary. She wanted nothing from him. As far as he smiled to her and met her frequently, she was the most contented person on the planet.

His opinions and ideas mattered a lot to her. He had made her quite strong and confident. He advised her because he was concerned about her. She too tried to make him proud. He rarely asked her for help and she would do anything to help him out. At the end of the day, they knew they were like best friends who can always count upon each other. They teased and taunted each other but could also be serious when it was required. They understood each other well. She couldn’t be at peace when he looked worried, troubled or tired. They cared a lot for one another.

His replies to her texts made her happy. All she wanted was to see his smile once a day. She would feel incomplete on the days they would not meet. She would stalk his Facebook profile or stare at his pictures, in the hope that she’d see him again soon. She was young, at the threshold of her lovely days of youth. She often wrote to him despite knowing that he would never reply. He had a complex persona. She was a waterfall overflowing with love; he was a tap giving only as much water as needed, sometimes less. She was the sky; he was the full moon that alone mattered on a dark night.

She loved him for what he was and what he did to her- he taught her to survive when she felt there was no sign of life. When she was with him, she knew she needed nobody else. Perhaps she was crazy to waste her time behind someone who was more or less the same to everyone dear to him. At the moment, she didn’t bother. She was happy and the memories she shared with him, infinite.

Escapist

Let us drench in the rain
and let our sorrows dissolve
Let us shout in vain
and release the storm within

Let us revel in memories
and travel back in time
Let us write poetry
even it doesn’t rhyme

Let us close our eyes
and avoid what crosses our sight
Let us believe it never happened
it was a nightmare we saw last night

Let us numb the pain even if
it’ll be worse when we feel it
Let us disappear and return only when
there remains no need to heal it

Old dresses

With a heavy heart, she held the black shirt for one last time. Its smooth fabric, fine print and the angelic look it gave her when it adorned her slim body. She saw it, apparently for the last time. She knelt and kept it in the box that was meant for donations to the poor. She turned away and walked back to her room.

The shirt was a piece of not only cloth but also her soul. That was one of her lover’s most favourite shirts. He complimented her day and night whenever she wore it. Somewhere, their love blossomed from that shirt. She fell into a trance, recalling the memories attached to the dress that was now gone.

It began two and a half years back. He texted her, “You looked beautiful, amazing and hot in that black shirt.” The lucidity melted her. She wore it quite often. Whenever she did, he could not stop staring her. He’d simply open her tied hair and ask her to smile. That was the magic of the shirt.

A week before his birthday, they celebrated Beautiful Black Day when they both wore black shirts.

Few months later, at a time when he’d lost all hope, she’d hugged him for the very first time- as though the shirt transmitted all her hope to him. He felt better.

Almost six months later, the day she’d worn this shirt, they shared their first kiss. Amateur, yet so perfect. Clean. Smooth.

Whenever she wore it, she could not stop missing him. It was agonizing in a way and pleasing in another.

It was gone now, leaving behind some of her most secret memories. Neither the memories nor the days would return.

She returned to her wardrobe. On top of her pile of clothes, lay neatly folded a top, pink with polka dots. She froze for a moment. This was the dress she wore the day they confessed their love to each other for the very first time. She had also worn this dress during one of their most intimate encounters.

She took it out and folded it. She turned towards the door. She had barely walked a few steps when she retreated. She could not muster the courage to part from it. Once again, she folded it and put it in her bag. She would carry it home and treasure it forever, never bringing it back to this madhouse.

The voice that echoes in silence

You just called!!

I was sitting in my favourite corner of the reading room when my cell phone began to flash your name in bold. Skipping stairs, I alighted the staircase in quest of good network. Out I was, and I heard your tinkling voice.

The magical whisper that runs Goosebumps through my hands and a current down my torso. The cackle that is sweeter than the call of a cuckoo. The chuckle that I never want to stop lending my ears to. The talks that are coated with pure honey; the words woven from China silk. The melodious voice that wins hearts. The fully cracked voice of an eighteen year old lad. The spell cast by a sorcerer, the hymns chanted in a shrine. The enchanting sound of an enthusiastic narrator. An everlasting story. The colours of a rainbow, the radiance of the sun. The strings of a guitar, the rhythm of the chirping birds. The lullaby to keep me awake all night. The tune to reminisce forever, until the last breath.

Your voice is intoxicating. Once again, I experienced the euphoria I usually do during our conversations vis-à-vis. The voice that unconsciously keeps ringing in my ears, silently echoes through the veil of memories when I am struck by nostalgia.