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Rated: E · Letter/Memo · Personal · #2162407
Nothing specific, just the first post
It was one such January night when certain random thoughts invaded my mind again. Memories rushed back themselves to the point where they meet the old me. Nothing specific remained stagnant in my mind yet a flash of that stranger turned close person did intoxicate my system. I went through those series of still photographs in my gallery. Thought hard on the what ifs and buts all in one go. Not a single justification could lead me with a valid solution that yes, maybe this was the case he left. From my end everything was more or less sorted, then how come he still had to find those flaws?

I wanted hard to question him at the back of my mind. I also had this weird wish to talk to him for at least once, but till how long can you push yourself when the other person won't take a step ahead? So that was it. I stopped. I fed my injured heart with remnants of his memories, but to no extent did it work. Maybe the bruises were too sharp, they weren't meant to repair. He was someone who scribbles too, then how come he didn't see my heart which spoke every truth through pen and paper? Afterall a writer may lie, but not those words where he/she captivates every drop of truth, in some folded sheets of truth, which might be concealed within him but as those same truths get frozen down as some words, they will eventually be iridescent to speak of the truth. But, as expected he never saw that. Didn't you really feel? Those tormented emotions? That myriad of feeling which was named after you?

Thus when he left there was nothing left to bring him back. It was somewhat hard on my side. I tried every way to be vivid in front of him, but as it's said, nothing can bring back a person who has turned deaf towards all your ramblings and musings. Somewhat similar was the case while I still kept his memory fragile in snippets of poetries. Maybe someday when you read them, they will scream at you, of the truth you refrained yourself from listening. Maybe then my innocent self will glow up in strings of my own words.
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