You were the rhyming chorus in my love song, the saviour in my fairy tale, the big break in my miserable life, the climax in my depressing drama/thriller movie fluently turning into a rom-com, and finally the spring of my barren heart.
But the truth in the matter is that movies and songs end. There are no happy endings. If there were, we wouldn't be calling them endings. Love tales never end with two persons ending up together. And no matter how enthralling the spring winds are, or how enchanting her scent is, the dark clouds will take over and rain like they have never rained before. For it will turn you back to how you were before spring, a hopeless person with an uncertain soul and a miserable heart.
I wish I could picture all of my childhood. But it seems that I can't. I can just create these crazy, emotional, hurtful, lovely little snipets of what I felt and what I went through as a child. These snippets wouldn't even make 15% of my childhood. I wish I could remember the remaining 85% too. Like I really want to know what happened? What kind of thoughts went through my head when I used to go to bed? Did I cry when someone got rude over me? Did I get happy when I made others happy? Where did that remote controlled car go that my father gave me on my birthday? I remember people saying it was expensive and really cool that all my friends used to stare at it. But perhaps I didn't quite understand the term 'expensive' back then. I want to experience why our family left that very first house that I seem to remember as a little baby. I want to experience how my father used to hold me when I was a little baby who couldn't even crawl. I want to see his face light up when I crawled for the very first time. I want to make these little highlights whole, like a complete picture of a life I've had, of the feelings I felt, of the pain I've endured, whether its because of not getting enough milk or not getting enough love or emotional support. Maybe I want to go back. Not to stay there, but to experience and feel it again. Because sometimes I feel hollow; do I really know myself? Who am I? Where am I? How did I get here? And where did I start?
Now why would you make someone feel that they aren't good enough? Two days have passed and the person wants to disappear for the things that were unbearable. And that too came from a person that mattered most to him. Weeks have gone by and there he sits, rubs his legs on the bathroom floor, hot water keeps on dripping on his leg feeling like a stab. Despondently, he cries for everything that could have been; while for you, its thursday.