Am I forgetting your voice? Has it been that long?
I still love you, but probably I do not like you anymore, or do I?
Have I always been in double-mindedness, or maybe not?
There was a time when I was totally awestruck by you, am I not now?
Am I sane, or maybe a little too drunk?
Was I pretending then, or am I now?
I have indeed started to forget your voice, and I am, maybe, sorry.
Yes, that is where it all had started. How well I remember that day! The month of March it was. But does it matter anymore? For me? For you?
Would you be fine with the fact that I am forgetting your voice, the voice that once ran down my spine and send a chill, telling me, “I am everything that matters”? Would you be fine with it? Would it not unsettle or agonize you? But again, how does it even matter.
It’s been 2 years, 137 days since we met each other. You asked about my perfume and I gave you a snippet about colognes. I remember you asking me this, but my mind is washed clean of the voice, the voice I once loved. I have the faintest hint of your alexithymic face, the eyes dig deep in my mind. You always came back to see, how your absence dulled the vibrance in my eyes before disappearing again. But now am free of that charm too. Does it hurt?
You always said that I don’t say much. Well, I had a lot to say, lot more than you could even ever contain, you just had to ask the right question at the right time. You never did. Now after years of silence I realized that we make better strangers than we ever did anything else. Do you feel something in your gut? Does it make you regret not asking the question, rather, ignoring the question?
I poured every bit of my love on you. Nurtured that love with cassia and Murrah, in the form of my tears. Always harboured, “what if I never love anyone the way I loved him”? But then someone taught me this, you never love someone the same way twice. It took me a long time to realize that love sounds different and means a lot different from each pair of lips that speak them. Does it make you sad to think that mine wouldn’t say the word for you again?
You were a very private person, and sometimes it seemed to me that you were no longer interested in the chaos of the world, though you were a chaos in yourself, I got that feeling that you were living in the past, locked in the memoirs. You lived within yourself, for your Jeffrey Archer books, your Game of Thrones series and inside them- a comfortable prison of your own design. I know you, I always knew you. You will never tell this to anyone, not even yourself but you do miss me when you hear my name. I maybe struggling to remember your voice but I remember you. This is what that scared you the most?
You used to call me observant. Trust me, that’s not particularly true. People are so easy to read, we bleed emotions even in the way we drink our tea. I used to be quiet, not blind. You never seemed to notice though. You were always too busy drinking your own damn tea. I wanted to tell you even then, in the longest lost epoch that there is no greater agony than keeping an untold story inside you. Do you repent never letting me touch your story?
Well for a fact, I know this, that you will always be very fond of me. I was your first love. You were mine too, but then I discovered that first love is not the person you hand your heart to, but it’s the first person to stumble on it. And I represent to you, the regret. Regret that you never had the courage to commit. You see, I have the strength to forgive someone who isn’t even sorry. I fell for you, unconditionally, like the leaves fell. Without explanation, without justification,without apology. You were that loneliness, beautifully gift wrapped in poetry. Does it make your heart cry that I am not reaching out to you? Does it keep you up at night sometimes to think that I am not seeking your momentary presence? Well, absence doesn’t always make the heart grow fonder, sometimes it fades people away.