It took me 7180 miles away from you to think clearly. This is a different world altogether. We are an unimaginable distance apart. We cannot reach each other at a moment’s or even a day’s notice. Still too young to earn enough money to travel impulsively; oddly, old enough to nurture such strong feelings. I can hardly recall the details of your facial features. Distance should not blur memories. But, does it?
It seems like a long time ago when we were carefree and had all the time in the world for each other. We would kill hours deciding on how to waste the next few ones! Good times. Those times still don’t fail to bring a faint laughter within, which dies soon after. This city literally never sleeps. Buzzing with life. There is not much here which reminds me of you. I have begun to think that it might be the ‘places’ which made me fall in love with you. I wonder if it would feel the same if I had gone out with somebody else to all those places you took me to.
I still find those hazy memories giving me a heartache. And sometimes, even a headache! But I am proud of myself for not ruining my self-respect. The moments of recalling you are becoming less frequent. Thankfully so, I believe. You seem imaginary because of such geographical distance between us. It’s a strange feeling. Unknown. I feel lost sometimes. Disoriented. I see the goals others have etched out for me. I am still unclear about what I want.
Am I at fault for not being too ambitious? is the purpose of life, ambition? I am constantly made to feel how lucky I am to have come here. To have got an opportunity to learn here. Am I bad person if I want to let this all go and come back? This doesn’t feel home. This doesn’t smell like home. These people don’t consider me as one of the friends. The simmering dislike inside them for me is almost tangible. How can it make me feel any good?
Everything appears changed. A familiar colour of skin here and there, a rare fume of spices somewhere is what keeps me hopeful. I shall do my best, capture every good thing that this city has to offer and come back to you. I keep forgetting there is no ‘you’ anymore in my life. And there was never an ‘us’. Would it be worse to be back and find out that the place has become significantly tormenting? Maybe staying here offers an illusionary comfort of having a home back there. Where I was, with you. That could keep my hope alive. A life in a dream bubble is what I opt for.
Oh look, rain! My pages have their ink smudged. There are blots on the paper. Much like my memories of you. It continues to rain in this cold. And the ‘city-which-never-sleeps’ is digging its sharp cold deep claws in me.