You wouldn’t believe if I lay down all my woes. You will find a way to diminish their weight. I am feeling the things I am feeling not for any other reason but that I cannot help feeling. I wish I could stop it all. I wish to go back in time where life wasn’t throwing these lessons at me. Where birds chirped and lovers squabbled. I write in angst. I write to subside the pain. That flickering ray of positivity still resides in my being. Today is just another day. And tomorrow will bring with it fresh energy.
Missing someone is such a pain. It leaves you with spongy eyes. And a series of sleepless nights. What am I running away from? I don’t think I’ll escape these thoughts. Or ever escape from you. Tiny grains of your character, flashes of your smile, your peculiarities, unrestrained talks, your blemishes and moments of spark, everything has assimilated into me how colors once blended cannot be separated back. They form a composite shade of something new. I am not the same. I guess, now, I am a composite tone of you. Yes, my tints might have affected your contour as well. But I’ll not let it be my concern anymore. I wouldn’t cringe or beam at the thought of you. I would just be, the newer me.
The beauty of pain is that it seeps into you slowly. It will hurt a lot in the beginning, little later it would sting every waking moment, and then it will ever so slightly pinch and before you know it, you are breathing pain. It becomes this familiar thing to you. You don’t demonstrate any emotions to it. You don’t feel the restlessness anymore. Your face is all bland. You’re all like….dear pain! Come hither, be my guest. Doesn’t matter any more. It’s not that you don’t want to be happy. Yes you do. You try. But that whacky little piece stays. What do you do? Give it space. Freedom. Time. Let it in. And one day without your permission, it will be out.
Does it help, if I admit that I miss you at molecular level. Or if I say you are snatching away my nights. Does my abnormality resulting from your silence give you relief. Should I mention the constant residual uneasiness you have bequeathed upon me. I don’t find the need to check my cell phone these days. I don’t ponder lately on how I look in front of the mirror. Couldn’t you beguile me a little less? Couldn’t you have loved me a little fainter? Why was the passion required. Were those unrestrained talks really necessary. I am on a thin line between whether I want to recover from you or not. I fear nothing would match up to you and when it does, I would fear forgetting you. Mind isn’t ready to stack you as a thing of the past. You might be indifferent. You might have moved on. You might be yearning. You might have come in terms. You might be struggling too. I have no way to find. For a moment I wish I was little more self obsessed so I could think less of you. Love and the trepidation it brings along!
Then again, I don’t want us to be uncertain. Paddling with insecurities. I will accept our fall. I will embrace your absence in my bones, make it a part of living. Life shouldn’t stop on incomplete stories. We’ll be fine, you and I. Our story, short, romantic, fervent, incomplete, beautiful, sad; but our’s at the end.