Memories are a funny thing…there is good and there is the bad, and you would point out that there is the ugly too. In our memories the bad and the ugly reign when disappointment creeps in, and in my disappointment I wish to outwit these wily memories and it is not hard. I just take a deep breath and feel the warmth envelope me, and there it is, the remembrance of how I felt with you, how you made me feel. It’s not the stuff great classics are made of, remembered and cherished by all mankind, but then maybe classics are lived. Not loved, not cherished, but lived. In moments that are never written about but in memoirs. I know I lived a feeling that for me is worth writing about; to be chronicled for life.
It was in those moments spent with you when I felt loved, and cared for. Not in an overbearing manner. Ah, well, most of the times. Your care never presupposed a weakness in me, and I loved every bit of it. I loved how you always wanted to solve all my problems, and I loved how you got irked every time I said I can solve my own problems Thank You very much. I loved that so many times you spoke more than I did, shared more than I did and then balked at the idea of that being the case. I loved it when you made me feel important, more so than most other people in your life. In the times when we chatted away most of the night on most nights, I loved the shared laughter, the ease and the camaraderie, that jumping from one topic to another, pointless debates and never ending arguments and subjects that involved history and warriors, mechanics and motors, behavior and thoughts, dreams and morbid reality. In those moments, it was easy to forget past hurt and my broken spirit began to heal. Of all of this it is that I remember most; being enveloped in a primitive, no holds barred, a “my word is my bond”, a kind of Neanderthal love- though you wouldn’t call it that. And I loved that even more…that it wasn’t a big deal, it needed no validation, nor a tag, that it just was. That made it a done thing, not something to be done. That was the simplicity of it.
Then of course, there was the complexity of it. I loved that the ardour was shared, and though it drove me nuts I loved that the intensity was too. I loved the feeling of being equals; in action, and in emotion. It scared me though, to think that the fear was too and perhaps the insecurities even more so. Perhaps it was the fear that won, or maybe the discomfort of pushing your limits or the inconvenience of it. Perhaps it was nothing so grand, but just time that passed all too quickly for you and not slowly enough for me. Today, you tell me you still are there, but the warmth is gone and I am cold. You tell me that time is what we need, and with every passing minute the difference between what was and what is grows more marked; the distance yawns wider. I have learnt that one can never go back, only take what is now and make a new tomorrow…it may have bits of the past interspersed with it, it may be completely different from what was, or it may be similar. I don’t know what time has in store for us. I only know that it passed all too quickly and in its passing it left a lot of fond memories, a lingering disillusionment…and a quiet disappointment.