On the first day at my university, in a crowded room full of chirpy, ambitious international students I saw a boy standing across the room. He was just literally standing, not doing anything remotely interesting. But my first thought ‘I am going to kiss him someday’. (Not going to end well, you have been warned)
In the winter of 2012, I was hopelessly and irretrievably in love. My best friend who lived many miles away was getting my poorly written sugary poems in Gmail. So the last remnants of my coelhoesque pseudo sense of spirituality wake up and tell me it is a sign. ‘ This love is going to bring back colors to the black and white hues that depression has painted your life in.’ There was only one problem, the feeling wasn’t mutual. And he was very subtle about it. ‘I don’t like you ‘, his exact words. In retrospect, I cannot find a reason why I saw a window of opportunity in that sentence that was as plain as the nose on my face.
My love increased with every passing day.
But I am going to give my intuition or delusion (depending on where you stand), a point because after two dreary winters as it turned out he would be the first one to kiss me, to touch me.
It ended after a beautiful summer.
The depression that was walking on tiptoes around me until then hit me on the head with a machete that was lost love.
Why am I telling you all this?
I imagined the day I met him again would be significant, a real test of my strength.
Turns out we can pass by each other on the street and greet with a harmless ‘hallo’ and walk away.
Past, no matter how beautiful or heart wrenching it was, it is inaccessible to us. Perhaps it is beautiful where its left alone.