She had known love, in a way only a few do. She had felt it
soar through every nerve ending, through every synapse-through her soul. She
had felt it mess with her head, making her giddy, making her smile at the
stupidest, most random moments, making her want to sing and fly. She had felt
the tingles in her fingertips, the turmoil in her tummy, the funny feeling in
her legs – she had felt it till her toes.
She knew how it felt to wake up in the morning with a smile
on her face. She knew what the sun-lovers meant when they said they wanted to
stay in the sun all day. She understood what the rain-heads meant when they saw
the first dark cloud roll in to the sky. She recognized what the winter- lovers
felt when the first snow-flake landed on their nose. She appreciated happiness.
She personified happiness. She was
happiness.
The whole day went about skipping, and smiling. There was no
stopping the rush that was in her blood stream. She had known no high like that
of love. The stability of his chest when she would rest her head against it; The
complete stillness that took over her entirety when she would lose herself in
his arms; The knowledge of no harm as long as he embraced her; The melody of
his heartbeats; The symphony that their hearts created when they would beat
together- in unison; She knew. She lived. She loved.
The way his touch would awaken feelings she didn’t know she
could have felt, the emotions that would rise and swell up in her chest when
she saw him smile, the uncontrollable urge to protect him from the world, the
absolute stubbornness to take care of him, the delight in being taken care of,
the bliss his voice would provide, the sparks that would light up their nights-
she comprehended love. Her love. Their
love.
She loved with her heart, with her soul, with her all. She
loved him to bits, she loved him till the fall.
Now, there is no him. And thus, there is no she. She is, of
course, as of course, is he. There is no they, and there is no them. There is no rush, no tingles are underwent.
There is a void, and in that is knowledge. The knowledge of pain, of
loneliness, of falling. There is no dancing, there is no symphony. There are
empty tunes that fill her room, but nothing gives her company.
Days pass by, and she continues to not forget. She continues
to fight the sadness, the hurt, the barrenness. The nights are filled with
sleepless dreams, the mornings begin with beads of uneasy sweat. The heart that
once sang and pranced, now, it only bled. There was an impulse, a strong,
throbbing impulse- to run- to run away and never return. But how could she
leave? It was her home. She would avoid going out. But that was no way to live.
So she did. She stepped out in the Sun she once knew well, and turned away, no
recognition was felt. She hid under her dusty umbrella when the radio droned
about dark clouds- her old friends. She walked with her eyes down, she walked
fast. She didn’t know it- she was running from her past.
She saw him sometimes, and she knew, he saw her too. She
never could encompass the ineptness, the lack of warmth that filled the
distance between them. She did not understand why she felt the way she did. She
did not know. And for the first time, she knew what not knowing felt like. She
didn’t understand it. The misery, the anger, the frustration- she did not
understand what she felt. She did not know. Till one day she realized.
She was scared.
