Incompletion of Us

After four years of being in a committed, long distance relationship where we’ve been confined to watching pixelated, low resolution renditions of each other on our LED screens, or conversations over the phone, interspersed with long minutes of static and echo – I imagined I would be used to your constant, unyielding absence from my every day.

Unfortunately, I am not.

There’s something incredibly powerful about a passionate tempest and the ensuing incessant rains – and its ability to bring life to a standstill. There’s something tenderly magical about a major electricity blackout that drowns out the sounds of a splendid city. There is something hauntingly beautiful about the silhouettes of the large timeless mountains against the crimson of the night – the long, muted shadows they cast, that wash our feet like waves of memories. It is only then, in our absolute unconditional inability to hide within our routines that we are made fully aware of the overwhelming truth about our insecurities. We never really grew out of them – we merely pretended to disregard their existences until they became just another abnormality in our otherwise mundane realities.

And at moments like these, when I am forced to stop and reflect – your relentless absence begins to fill up my void like an impenetrable blackness – overwhelming, vague and without answers. I am lost in the ocean of your memories, of your what-ifs, like a sail boat bereft of its sail – tossed around in an engulfing, fluid darkness without a shore in sight.

But you know what they say about the mighty, timeless trees caught in the storm. Like our massive, inflexible egos – they are levelled by the unforgiving, devouring annals of time and distance – washed away into the sea of oblivion – tipped over the edge of our consciousness.

But hope is like the diffident, unnoticeable weed that grows on the sides of old buildings. Hope survives after a cruel storm, because there was not much to begin with after all. And I give myself time to stop and think about you, your thoughts that continue to grow unnoticed, unmarked on the edges of my soul that grows wizened with age and time. I let you linger, like the first smattering of green at the break of spring – like the first rays of a sun, after a cold frozen night.

Maybe, after all these years – the skip in the heart beat has reduced to a singular flutter. Maybe, worries and routines have dimmed the twinkles of our eyes when they meet. And when we hold each other, the magic of our reunion is somewhat dulled by our inescapable tomorrows.

But like glowing embers in an ancient fireplace, the warmth of our hearts still smoulder underneath the ashes of our present. Like the lambent glow of the moonlight, only obscured by the clouds of our today.

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