There were certain shades in me that I chose to reveal to a very few. The very few who knew all my dark secrets and bright sunshines. The few who were a part of me, my world.
And then October happened. Seasons changed. People changed. And I survived.
"Tell me, what should I do so that you move on? It's seven years and you are still living in the past! I don't wanna see you broken, please!"
How do I tell her that every day of these seven years I have tried my best to move on. I have dated ladies with an empty heart beating in my chest. I have emerged myself in busy schedules to stop my mind from thinking about her. How do I tell her that it still feels like yesterday when we first met. It feels all new and fresh. They say, hope is the best of the things. How do I tell her that every night I still hope things to fall in place by the next sunrise. May be I should just remain silent. Some words are better left unspoken.
Every time she came near me, a part of me was lost. Lost in the flow of those endless emotions. Not that I didn't want her to come near me, but I was afraid that someday I might wake up and find myself completely vanished. Not that I am afraid of losing myself, but if I get lost then how would I love her! She is a dream I don't wanna wake up from. Dreams that bring you a smile. The good ones. At times I sit back and wonder how these seven years have passed. I fell in love. I fell out of love just to fall in love again. With her all the time, of-course. I wonder if this is the love they write about in novels and beautiful poetries.
She is pretty and beautiful. Rich and cool. Matured and yet child-like. Stubborn to the core. Someone who likes irritating you all the time. Someone who would leave behind her world to wipe the tears from your eyes. Someone who would wake you up at one in the morning and ask if you were drowsy. Someone who would silently whisper prayers that you get well soon from a not-very-good disease but then ask you to die soon so that she can have some news.
I wonder why would such a girl ever love a tall and dark guy who stammers to utter his own name. Someone with not-so-cool hair style wearing ex-generation spectacles. Someone who is so bad at expressing himself that even after gulping two towers of strong beer, all he does is look at the glowing moon and smile. Love was meant to be unconditional. They say it just happens. May be it never happened to her. Or may be it happened and even she is waiting every morning for things to fall in place between her and her man. May be she is just trying to screen her love from any evil eye. Or may be she is too afraid to get hurt.
They say, it's a poet's curse to write about love but not have it. So true.
Happy November!