Ten Years Down the Road

Ten years down the road, while finding your old favorite books, your hand will accidentally land on the piles of letters I had written to you, worn down by the time, hidden away from you and the world, continuing with their shallow breathing under the mountain of newly written pages. You’ll choose one letter randomly from the stack, while your body shuddering with realization that you cease to remember us and the memories of me etched into the letters. You will begin to read few lines, and you’ll fathom out the reasons of those scribbled words. As you will continue to read, you will realize that the events that had happened were stupid and that I was immature, but nonetheless, I did love you. The words that you’ll read won’t make any sense, but you will pick up the threads and your eyes will shed a tear of remembrance making the sight all blurry.
The love will travel slowly in your body and bones, and you will miss me more than you ever did.

Ten years down the same road, while rummaging through my closet, the well organized piles of clothes will fall down making a view for my eyes to see the jute pursue hidden beneath the multiple layers of clothes. My hands would reach the purse with frayed edges, however, still protecting my most precious belonging.  The silence around will let me hear my heartbeats remembering you. Taking out that black and white photograph of yours, the one you gave me when the situation was in our favor. My heart will skip a beat and the eyes will roll down the tear settled at the corner, when they will look fixedly at the photograph of you. I’ll look vividly at the long neck, that big nose, those deep and dark eyes, some stubble and will wonder how you are. Kissing the photograph I’ll leave imprints of my lips and moisture of my tears that will continue to roll down, till someone will knock on the door of my room asking me to hurry up.
The same love will rush through my veins and skin, and I will miss you terribly than I ever did.

Eventually we both will realize that the road had bumps and that we had fallen. We tried to help each other, to hold hands, but we had fallen quite far, and your hand couldn’t hold mine and my hand couldn’t reach yours. The only way to bestir ourselves was to stand up all alone and to complete the rest of the journey without holding each other’s hand.
Our hearts keeping alive the love and our souls still coupled.

-Kritika Vashist

(PS. That piece of art is a painting by me, reflecting Radha and Krishna, the eternal lovers as per Hindu mythology.)