Three years after the bombings also, he couldn’t forget her.That’s what the catastrophic bombings do to souls. One dies physically while other, emotionally.

Never then, the halcyon times we basked in each other’s love, did I cognize love. Nor today do I. But all along, every single time, from spontaneous discourse with the colleagues around to boozing up until I saw doubles, my lips parted away, only, damn only, with your name betwixt the protrusion, if ‘love’ was what the buzz went all about. Under the ebb and flow of time, everything, owning a top-notch penthouse with the blanket of picturesqueness all around or steering fluidly a convertible BMW model, we together dreamt of, was seen turning true except ‘us’. The night since the ghastly bombings, very immediate day prior to our hook-up ceremony, shredded you in flakes I could not yet get rid of, our only undone dream ‘us’ remained forlorn.

bombings india Bombings Killed Her But Not Her Memories Etched In His Mind

It’s three long years, Proma, and I still find myself melting into your soothing love, the love that no more is real but all surreal, the love that is present despite being absent, the love that breaks me down to tears every day but also spurs me to love you even harder, the love that perhaps is not dying until I breath my last.

Even you while hopelessly staring upon me, from the unknown safe haven where you may now belong to, must be scoffing at the stubborn me who yet couldn’t cast away the memories of a long-gone girl and settle with maybe the ‘us’ anew. Only if I could tell the maddening world around that I too could envisage the bumpy life ahead, that I too recognized the fact that it was not a smooth sail alone, that my soul too yearned for a companion to get through and that I did persevere to fall in love again, but only if they could respectfully embrace my unavoidable failure.

because i miss her Bombings Killed Her But Not Her Memories Etched In His Mind

For how could have I thrown myself into some body’s arms whose warmth never appeased me as yours’? How, please tell me how, was I supposed to sniff some unappealing alien cologne when I, all out, was immersed in yours’? Proma, if you can, tell me how, how-how-how……how could have I leased my cosy little heart to another soul knowing that it still had you occupied?

People around me may find me an ideal object of mockery but what eases the failure me is that you won’t. For I did endeavor to unscrew our frame, substitute you and get done this undone ‘us’, but I guess, this ‘us’ is meant to be incompletely complete, with me and your enamored memories forever.

By Prerna Daga

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The above written article is entirely fictional and not based on any true evidence.

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