Every year, I think about you. Not too many times, but consistently, a few times. And each time I am not sure how I should feel. There is a vague sense of loss, a subtle tinge of abandonment, a painful realisation of independence. But mostly, there is just a numb nothingness. Who were you? I am not even sure I remember your face. Your smile, yes. Your eyes, too. But in pieces, in context. I can't imagine your reaction in a new situation. I can't see you as you may have become. I can only see the frozen moments that I have embalmed in my head. I wonder if you feel the need to see me. If you imagine what it may feel like to talk to me now. If you wish you had known me all this time. If I am even a real person to you. If you have convinced yourself that I don't exist. Perhaps it isn't as simple as moving on, as erasing, as avoiding. Maybe it's an intense removal, a complete denial. I don't hate you. I don't love you. It's an absence of anything ta...
In between what is and what was
ReplyDeleteIn between a memory and a dream
In between spring and summer
In between you and me,
There always will be
An almost me.
:)
hhmmmm !!
ReplyDeletewhere is miss perfection - where is the little baby - the fighter cock ?
all this is fine - ok - good - but some fun and some naughtiness - whenever you are in that mood - write about that too.
you write beautifully about ........all that you do.
how about your present - the everyday life ?
wont say anonymous :-)