Your footsteps dwindled into the sound of heartbeats that I heard on silent nights when I cried myself to sleep. Your love faded into the last of the resounding echoes of the pain that screamed out of my soul. The look in your eyes reminded me of the wind-less stillness before the earth breathed a storm over a tiny island's shore, and engulfed its white sands in enraged, black waves. Your hurt was like the rub of sandpaper against open wounds, exposed to the torturing heat of a naked fire. Your distance was a ruthless shove, and your voice will always be the splinter inside me.
It's a new year. And like everybody else, I too, am looking for my new beginning. Because, no matter how many times we said we were going to start afresh, we only tangled ourselves in the same old stories that had no end, the ones we couldn't record in books that we could keep in the top shelves of a forbidden library.
The autumn leaves had fallen and left their trees bare, to shiver away in a long, cold winter. The white fluffy snowflakes against the darkest shades of brown, are the sole beauty of this barren season. Spring, is a long way from here. But this is the season of love for me. Staggering confessions bite harder than the spine chilling cold that we can never get used to. And the thick fog is only a safe hiding place for those on the run, those infinite secrets we live in, for those who refuse to see reality because it's more painful than the bubble they've created for themselves and those countless lovers trying to steal a moment away from the world, to make it theirs forever, something that they will own even when the most materialistic things are lost to human greed, betrayal and the fruits of karma.
People say the same things, do the same mistakes, over and over again. And it's about time I realized, old conversations become new only because the people we talk to change. We're still part of the same old stories... Somehow, the conversations I had with you, will never have the chance to renew themselves in my present.