The first time I met you, the anxiety, the nervousness, blood gushing up the cheeks: everything seemed like yesterday.
I held the torn price tag I found between my old book, up against the sunlight; it said, “My best wishes on your special day”. It was was dated to August 2011.
Six years of knowing you, being with you, a complete stranger I had come to love. I still remember how confused and scared I was to commit to a serious relationship. I knew I liked you, but I felt I had so much else to do and get to. I remember how you had to give up, and you decided to leave. And how I could suddenly sense a void, a sudden drop in a deep gorge. I didn’t want to live in it. You made me accept I was in love and that we needed to stay together.
All of it came reeling in to my thoughts, from then to day. Each day, each moment, each little fight, every sorry we shared. The beginning was fiery— two of us, not a care for the world, but afraid to lose one another. Now, I think beginnings are always like that.
Nothing has been the same this past year. Our days together are long, but moments very few. Fights don’t seem to stop, but ‘sorrys’ are always left unheard. I don’t remember the last time you looked at me and saw someone. And the scariest thing— we are not anxious to lose one another anymore, we won’t perhaps think twice before quitting. It will be a release from the captivity of pity and humanity.
The love now is wistful, it’s a constant war with sleepless nights and a lot of smoke. We are both trapped in our own fortresses, but fail to speak out.
What changed? Time or us?
I try to turn myself away, I know it’s not that hard, but every time the last six years manage to hunt me down and bring me back to you. I am here again to face the wall, the disinterest and to be with you.
I crush the price tag, and throw it away. Six years later, you are now the bloody knife that I plunge myself into, and die everyday.
Sketch By: Kunal Kumar