Moonbeam, “would you always remember me or would I fade away with the passage of time just like your favorite scent which stays for a while and then gets lost in the air. A ripple effect in the water, which is essentially present but loses its charm once it’s over. Would I be just another ripple in the ocean of your life?”
“Hey”, she snapped a finger at his head. “Don’t you ever mistake the weather of your mind for the sky of my life. How can I really forget you?”, she said curling up on the couch, closer to fire, almost spilling her glass of chardonnay ; well a very usual trait.
“You are me, like I am you. You will continue to breathe through me even after you will be long gone. You, sunshine, you are not an effect or weather or a season that would change. You, Sire, you are the very air I breathe, marrow in my bone. You are the foundation of a part of me and seriously would you that part would be lost and that part is the only thing that keeps me from unleasing the fire to the world. That’s all I have, I guess. ”
With dew dipped eyes preserving the cassia and murrah for her and a smile as puerile as that of a child, he kept looking at her for quite a stance. He held her hand softly, almost shaking her from her mirage, “What more am I, Moonbeam?” he asked her, looking deep in her halzel brown eyes.
You are not only the agglomeration of memories but assemblage of stories. Stories that I have weaved with you. You are every bit of my sub-conscious mind. You are the smiles and the tears that you have given me in the past so many years that I have lost on your shirt. You are the mixture of cosmic stardust and earth. You, sire, nope, you have not been simple, not for a single day. You are a complex and magnificent product of the experiences you have had in the live you have lived.
It’s been four years and I still can hear your voice in my head just like it was yesterday. I wish it every day that if I could gift wrap my creatinine and could give it to you. Even after four long metabolic years, I still remember you. You are more real to me than reality, you know. I seriously cannot understand or differentiate between the working of my heart and the delusion of my head.
Maybe, you know, I am not really sure. I think I am sad. But, Now I understand that sadness has its own beauty, a depth, a silence. It can be meditative sometimes. Sadness doesn’t mean mourning; sadness doesn’t mean sorrow, it’s simply the depth that everyone can’t understand. Sure, you can’t laugh but there is a subtle delight to it, almost sacred.
Even after four years, there is this faded, jaded picture trying hard to fix into focus. A memory gaining clarity in the dark. Without you, the time didn’t work very well with me, you know. It became dead grains of sand which one after another gave away and vanished and four long years passed.
I think all these years, all I did was to just sit there in front of the hollow world you left me, reading and listening to the sound of time dying.