So, we aren’t the same we were before.
That thrall of the first conversation, the exhilaration as my fingers brush your skin have been worn over time, age and the distance between us. The tears that linger around our eyes, as I watch your back melt away into the sea of faces at the airport, are short lived – they have been shoved into irrelevance by the bleak, lifeless projections that we paint every day. Those sunlit dreams that we weaved in college, they lie obscure – buried under the weights of our uncertain futures. When we lie on our empty, forgotten beds at night, far away from the maddening world, talking or sometimes drifting – we trace out our faces on the cold, hard screens of our devices. We talk about work, cracking jokes and drifting back to the day we met, the timelessness of our romance that drowned us forever – interrupted only by a muteness that whispers a longing to leave everything behind and never look back. The unexpressed lurid fancies of tired hearts, as we sigh.
But we hope, like we breathe. Those miserable years of heart-break have taught us that love, like the hardiest of all desert flowers, can grow in the unkindest of all places. Love, like the stubborn wild plant wearing away the cold, forbidden rocks, will find a way through the cracks of an inexorable present. And one day, our love – like the humble shrub that grows without expecting kindness, will weather the tempest – as the pretence and the grandeur of our worlds, like trees that are too mighty to bend, are levelled by time.
Until then, let your memories rest with mine.