I don't know what made me walk down the road that night. Though my body was numb and so was my heart, yet my feet chose to take little steps towards the last turn around the corner. I could feel nothing on the outside but something on the inside, something that didn't feel right but something that didn't feel wrong too.
As I walked through the street, I had illusions running through my sight and memories recollecting in my mind. I could see a little girl riding her new bicycle with the most delightful smile on her face, I could hear a mother sing for her one year old as she tried to make him sleep, I could smell that grandma's biryani which tasted heaven, I could feel the hug that a father gave his daughter seeing her report card, I could see those white houses decorated and cleaned. Everything seemed overwhelming until things started bothering me. My ears were about to burst when all the voices, laughs, and screams started echoing at the same time, my vision blurred by seeing those hallucinations collide together and my nose started bleeding when all the odors of several things around there mixed up and started to stink.
I took a few more paces hastily and was just a step or two away from the turn when I saw thousands of people standing right in front of me. But they weren't pleasant faces. They had smiles on them but I could see the cunning curves and feel that yellow-eyed jealousy. I could see through those bodies that were holding knives behind their back, eagerly waiting for me to turn around.
I knew the world in front of me would never let me go forth them and I also knew the world behind me will hold me back. I felt helpless and hollow. I didn't feel like walking a few steps in front nor a few back. Soon I realized why my body felt numb and so did the heart and mind. The streets were very c(old) and I decided not to move any further nor drag myself a few walks back but stay where I was until I die of the cold on the streets.
To me, love is a dream, a mere fantasy which I read and saw in all those stupid stories and movies. It's something, i dared to dream of. What is love for you? What is an impossible dream that you dare to dream of.
I still sit on the same bench of memories we had and think about how you and I faded away like a fog of smog the other day.
It seems to be the sunrise; I know that it will be a new day with new hope to see you and adore you from such a distance. But, I never realized that sunrises every day but different timing's and so was you with your unconditional words.
The silences we shared aren't silences anymore, like the noise of our hearts embarking on how much they love each other and still being apart.
Sometimes, you're more like emotions which can never pen over the paper as that's something so unreal because sometimes words make sense, and mine mostly doesn't.
I remember how your words used to tuck me inside in the blanket of love, which has been lost over the years as that wasn't something you always wished to keep safe.
So, here I sit silently and watch how the Sun loses its shine by each night and comes back again for a new day, new year, and so much more like an eternity. The warmth of love still resides within me, but just like each cold night, I struggle to keep it exact.
Everyone needs someone to hug them by the end of the day, and the beauty of loneliness is that. It hugs you each day, without a miss. Because, loneliness speaks.
The initial reaction wasn't pain. It was panic. A million thoughts and emotions, racing in my mind. Past, present, future. Memories. Plans. Everything was suddenly up in the air. Like an internal earthquake or tsunami maybe. I wasn't calm enough to feel the pain, gauge the damage. Immediately, I went into denial. Underplaying the hurt. Telling myself that I was okay and feeling normal... that sending love and forgiveness would be easy. After all, there was love, to begin with. But as days went by... I noticed, I was unable to cry. That's when I realized... I was in emotional shock. And my emotional system had abruptly shut down. That is grief. The damage runs deeper than what can be seen.
Her fingers smell of the fresh lilies she fiddled with on her way to my place. And I don’t try searching for any petals, between the pages of her books or in the braids of her hair. For I know she chose not to pluck them. For she knows beauty takes your breath away, only if you let it breathe.
Meeting her is like getting to feel all the thrill and foolishness of drinking water straight from a faucet. And her touch is something like getting visited By a heavy rain after a long season of draught. The skin on my lips feels relieved the moment her touch comes pouring down on it.
Words often find themselves trapped inside her mouth. And she only releases them when I’m in her vicinity. She looks at me with her mouth full of honey-flavoured words, that she saved away from everyone and smiles when I tell her how I crossed days and nights just to hear her speak.
Her hair, the color of dried leaves, stretches a mile long. Although constrained to her head, it’s always on the move. Sometimes away from me, sometimes charging at my face. It’s a road I know to its very end , but somehow I still get lost in it.