Skip to main content

The Days That I Remember

Time is a silent killer. It keeps eating away into almost everything I know... all the time. There are days that pass without thoughts of you, days when I am so busy with work that I forget to live life. Life suspends itself on such days. There are no memories of such days. If you ask me what I did, I would say I do not remember.

These are the days when I do not think of you. These are the days that I do not remember.

Normal days are daunting. They start with thoughts of you. I remember the glares you wore and felt all hep. I could see you having fun with all the glares you get when you are out in the crowd. I would remember the excuses you would make when your jeans would tighten a tad, or when you have one of those "Bad hair days."

There is enough of you that I have retained with me, in photos, in lines, in thoughts and in life... to last a lifetime. All days that I remember to have lived are days when you danced in my thoughts. Time is a killer, it keeps eating away into everything I know. Time does not touch you.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Hush

You don't have to tell me. I just know. Its that little sniffle that comes through The unexplained pauses The slow responses I know when you call Just because you needed to cry.

Long Winter Chill

If I could do a Neruda, You would have smelt of summer roses And Autumn pine. There would have been sheer love Of the kind that causes our hearts to ache And loneliness bordering the divine. You would have had so many secrets Welling up as in a girly giggle And so few friends who would hear them all. I am no Neruda I can't paint you a Summer breeze Amidst this long winter chill.

That Fluttering of Broken Wings

If you were to cross the road and hurt your toe, I know that I will never know. As we go on to take different roads and move on across different shores, there is something that happens to our relationships. Something that estranges, disconnects, disintegrates. I know that you still think of me. I know this because I find myself thinking about you. And thoughts rarely get seeded on their own. It comes from you to I and from I to you until one of us is alive. Old relationships rarely die. Like broken winged moths, they hang around dark alleys of forgotten memory lanes. Ever so often, I can hear one of them flutter its wings. Not too close but never too far.