She still gets lost in an unknown world, burns her lips and
drops down the cup. But she doesn’t miss him anymore. All these years she had missed him, she had
been in pain. But one fine morning she got up and realized it doesn’t hurt
anymore. She didn’t feel anymore. She had moved on. She has moved on in a way
that she remembers him, but doesn’t miss him. She remembers him everytime it
rains, she wonders if it’s raining where he is. She wonders if he still smokes
in the rain. Sometimes she thinks about him late at night while looking at the
stars. She remembers him in a way that makes her smile. She still talks about
him like he is the most prized treasure she ever had. But she knew she had
moved on. Her heart doesn’t ache anymore. Maybe that is what moving on is all
about, you never really forget the person, you simply stop getting affected by
them. She thought she didn’t miss him, true she didn’t. You never miss someone
who is always there within you. He was very much alive in every story she
wrote. It has always been about him. But she knew she was just another of those
cigarettes that he burnt daily. And he was a forest fire.
“I shall stop missing you little by little.”
His room still resembled a smoke house. The clock had
stopped working years back and he never got it repaired. He never tried to mend things, what was broken
was supposed to remain broken. He remembered how she used to break down the
cups. The broken cups could never be mended. He still smokes when it rains. The
number of cigarettes he smoked daily had increased over the years. He wonders if she still lets her hair loose
and chases the passing clouds. He wonders if she thinks about him. He doesn’t
miss her either. Everytime he thinks about her his ego stops him. He was
okay with it. He didn’t like missing her or thinking about her. It confused him;
it forced him to feel what he has been running away from. And his ego protected
him from that feeling that made him weak. That feeling that reflected in all
his paintings. All his paintings were about her. She was alive in his colours. But
he knew he was just another cup that would be broken by her. She was a forest fire.
“I shall stop loving you little by
little.”
They moved on but
never got over each other...
