I will bring you memories


“I will bring you memories.” He told her.
They were sitting on the familiar stairs and watching the sun cross the river. They became quiet as soon as the sun took a quick dip in the river.
“Will they be painful ones?” she asked after a long time. He looked at her. He could never take enough of the face. The small wrinkles were starting to get familiar.  The contours were becoming favorite spots for his eyes to wander. He knew he had already fallen and there was no looking back.
“Memories are always happy and they make your heart wrench with pain.” He said. The poet in him elated at the prospect of a perfect climax. The three of them, him, her and the poet, they all knew it was true.

Chapter 1

"Life always has a locus, a central point which defines a particular life cycle.” This is what he always thought.
 She had become his, involuntarily, without his approval or control. There were girls in his past and he hoped there will be girls in his future.
The understanding that was there, the way the vacuum shifted between them was something he was going to miss.

Chapter 2

“One has to live with certain sacrifices. To ask for perfectness in an imperfect world is foolish. It is men one must accuse. God is one of the many victims.”
He was not perfect. How could one be? Her possession of him had a price she could not pay. The want of him was a sin. Men guided his life and men will continue to do so.
She was not going to miss the admiration he had for her. She was going to miss the possession of him. He was like a pendent in a long chain she wore hidden to the world and close to her bosom.

Chapter 3

Nostalgia is a trickster.
Keep the memories as they are. Fragments. Small tiny unconnected parts of a single soul.
Something which is spent never returns to the exact actual form. The whole concept is complicated.
Both of them did not believe in this. Letting go was tough. So was compromising and moving on.
She sought religion. He, unbound by the written verses of a book and watertight definitions sought the only goddess he knew. Her.


The river is almost dead. The city is ignorant of it. They seldom talk now. The silvery moonlight sand is sad and helpless. It counts his days swaying between life and death. The newly built concrete stairs and podiums are weighing him down, withering him away.
“Don’t wait for me! The wait will be too long.” He wanted to say he will be there for her.
“Forget me as soon as you can. You will find a lot of them. Better than me.” She wanted to say that it would kill her if he forgot her, if he touched another woman.
They held hands. She rested her head on his shoulders. This was the last time he was going to feel like a man for her. Forever. He gulped some air to stop the tears and took a silent resolution. This was the last time she could feel that she belonged. She had never dreamt of flying.
If only it could be the last minutes of their existence!
Both of them died an hour later. The poet lived happily ever after.