All writers are a sum of their experiences.
Heard this in an independent movie I saw on a dreary rainy morning. It might be a little delusional to write about seeing the starry night before it started raining so hard that it was impossible not to curse the fat raindrops for blocking my glasses. I ate a giant scoop of cold ice-cream that cut harshly through my teeth and sent shivering down my entire body. I walked in the rain, aware of the water gushing through the streets and through my summer sandals. I don’t know why I wear them usually in the rains. Something about splashing water around the ankles makes disliking the rains a little bit more acceptable.
Last night, I had strange dreams about my friends who are readers. I met them in my dream while they were tying their shoelaces, ready to spring through glass doors with yellow walls. Amusing how I can recollect these little details but not the actual conversation from the dream. One of them was crying over something and I hated seeing this in the dream. She is a very strong girl and not even in my dreams could I ever imagine somebody like her in tears. I hope she is all right, Would it be strange if I call her and share the dream? Maybe in a few years, I will tell her about it. It’s amusing that my dislike for rain is creating such wistful moments in my head. I went on the terrace and tried not to get drenched in the rain while looking at people moving in the streets trying to avoid the gushing water from the cars. People look so different when viewed from a distance. Everything they do, unmindful of someone else watching them is sheerly surreal. And the rain doesn’t seem too mindful of my thoughts when I make my disdain so visible to others who love it. Some days are sweet, some hardly pass by without a mention of all things sorrowful.
I wish to drive away these images stuck in my head of the people I’ve been before and turn a new leaf every single time I look up at the sky. I hope whoever is reading this knows I am speaking to you and those delusions you and I keep having about the universe we know doesn’t exist but still don’t stop dreaming and believing in it. All things matter just in this moment, as I write this, it is raining outside and through the windows I see the yellow skies, depressing as hell and yet recollect how once upon a time I walked through such rain to meet myself. It was, but, a long time ago. I remember a guitar string and the music we thought we heard through the vacuum, of the conversations I thought I will never forget throughout the life but whose beginnings I’ve begun to lose somewhere in my mind itself. I am not sure if I am making them all up, or just recollecting the fragments in a vain attempt of trying to keep you near me, in myself. If only it were possible I’ll never let you go, your words, your laughter, the way you look at me that cuts through my soul, and makes me uncomfortable as if you know what I am thinking. I wish that moment never passed by but now that it has, all I do is close my eyes and look through my eyelids, remembering you. Seeing through your honey-eyed gaze, I feel so new. Come soon, whenever you can. Know that I am here, waiting to talk to you in person, our late-night walks and defending ourselves against our thoughts. It is such a comfort to walk side by side, engrossed in the meaning of words we fight for, never realising these stay only in bits and parts of talks I struggle to keep pieced together in my mind.
This is where I head in my reverie when I think of you and all the people we’ve been before. Tricking me into revealing something and reviving the old memories because someday even those might fade away. Slowly there will come a time when I’ll forget dates and time and moments of the day I can so vividly recall now. Whenever that happens, I will be happy if I have you to share this, knowing you will always fill in the blanks of things I am forgetting. If only I had a memory chalet and I could keep you still in it.