The beautiful past before everything – i

“Nothing goes waste.”

I said to myself. Overwhelmed for a moment, I took a deep breath.

Beetles squealed as they made their signature noise. Why are they so many in numbers. One out of every four animals is a beetle after all! Amazed, I pondered at that thought for a moment.

“And that’s too much noise on a silent night!” I said to myself as I walked across the room to close the wooden door that looked over the balcony.

I unwrapped an envelope I’d been holding for too long, in my head rather, my hands holding them for a moment, for I couldn’t gather the strength to let those years of nostalgia flow back in my head. I caressed it, closed my eyes and remembered how she must have penned down words after words, expressing her feelings.

She tried so hard. I told myself.

“You didn’t need to.”  She would have heard in an utopian world. But that is not where I am. And I must push those letters back in. Let me sink into this feeling, that I’ve developed a sickness towards these days. Pondering over forgotten past is nothing gained.


The Meeting

“Do you remember?” I asked her.

She quietly stared back at me, her affirmative gesture in her eyes and a short lived hum.

When I remember those days, I still hear us talk, our excited souls, hands clenched onto the phone yet softly we held onto each others’ conversations. To be young and in love. A teenage love affair. Those were the days of passionate nights and long unforgiving afternoons.

One fine hot sunny day, her name alone had my attention fixated upon her. And only I know how I managed to speak to a lady for an indefinite time, for the very first time in my blooming teenage life. I talked in a subtle manner. I must have sounded moronic but nevertheless I felt suave.

I could sense in her, that excitement one has when one is guilty and excited of doing something secretly, out of the ordinary and how she enjoyed that. I gave her my number to bring her to confidence. She was unwilling at first of course, that was our very first time…

(To be Contd.)

Like this at Facebook

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s