I am crying every way I can.
I am trying to express this on paper every way I can.
Now I am never going to get over this also.
Now I am getting used to the tears of previous seasons gone by haunting me with the turn of a new season.
There were waves of terrorist attacks in the region where I was last winter. The region was isolated from the usual life I had been used to. The people were very different from the people I had grown up with –and not just in physical appearance/resemblance. I was at a new phase of my career. I had moments of fun and all sorts. It was supposed to be a very eventful/memorable period of my life.
But, whenever I look back on that season of my life, I only remember the times I sang to you under the sun’s glory, my headphones booming steadily against my eardrums. I only remember the times I played with thoughts of you whilst jauntily strolling in the evening’s peace. I only remember crying in sweet fondness as I prayed to you in the peak chill of the night’s dark. I only remember waking up in high hopes of spending the new day with you every morning’s bright. Our moments together have become fairy-ghosts that haunt my every recollection of that phase of my life. It’s like I am having selective amnesia; and my memories are being replaced completely with only those that have to do with you. At this rate, I won’t have any have any recollection of my growing up years before I met you. I won’t remember the fact that I spent 6 years of my life studying to be a doctor. Heck! One day, I will probably wake up with no memories of my name or who I am. But, I know I will remember every moment we spend together. Fairy-ghosts now eat up the parts of my brain storing the information about all else, as I remember more clearly only those long-gone moments having to do with you. I am losing bits of “me”. It’s not so much about losing those pieces of information as is about losing the essence of “me”, my past, my experiences, my perceptions of the past. There’s more: it’s even affecting my perception of the present. I am at a function, and instead of focusing on analysing the people and personality profiling, I am thinking about how that function could somehow relate to you; and what I’d do with you; and you showing up promiscuously in the arena.
I am not just me again.
P.S.: And I’ll look in the mirror one day and will see you. You might as well change my physical form to yours. I couldn’t care less again!
You are welcome only if you have a shadow.
Writing is being.
Being mad is serious business.
Being deep is mad business.
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