Letter To Someone (P3)
It was July and you were talking about your favorite things, — kesan pesta ice cream, football, Kishor Kumar, and escape. The breeze blew into our face, it starting pouring a little harder and the overcast just left you as the only source of light. It was beautiful — the place, the weather, the thunder, and you. I looked at your face and it felt enough. Like, I didn’t want to see anything else tonight. Your black eyes shone like black pearls. They are indeed as rare as black pearls. I kept running my fingers through your rough skin. How effortlessly you would take my hand and cross it with yours and leave it there without any expression, as if it was meant to be there. You are indeed so effortless. You told me how you loved ‘chaa’, how you could chug beer fast and how you loved walking without an umbrella when it muzzled and loved it when the rain drops touched the skin. Then you kissed me and asked me mine, while zoning out in your memories. We walked around for some hours until it was time for us to part. I reminded myself how sometimes we come across things so beautiful that they hurt. Hurt like those cyclic menstrual cramps, hurt like those non-cyclic razor cuts on my legs, hurt like those regular flash of memories.
I always felt what hurts the most is drinking whiskey while blankly gazing the dark corner of the room at 2:00am, swimming in an ocean while it rains, leaving places for new adventure, listening to a favorite song that drowns you in a pool of nostalgia, eating your favorite food alone, looking through the dusty album of forgotten and forfeited smiles, changing of the usual, not knowing what the time ahead holds, and you. And you, dear effortless, hurt the most.
You grabbed your things and walked away. We did that for a few times again and then we stopped, stopped for sometime or maybe forever. There were so many nights when you would tell me about your new and old favorites and then kiss me. I would fall in love with you all over again but each time, yes each time would reprimand myself from getting too deep because each time you too would remind me the same without fail. At times, I wonder how you pretended all throughout. I wonder if you, even for a minute felt the way I did, but then I know you never did and we never were together. We were on at a moment and then apart in another. I guess you liked ‘Almost’ better than an ‘Absolute’. I wonder if you still do. Maybe you liked things in little infinities rather than getting a whole universe. Maybe, you felt the same like me, but in fractions rather than in its entirety.