"I don't know if I love him, but I think about him a lot, a lot, a lot." "Everyone does, sweetheart."
It's monsoon and almost everyone is in love. To be true, everyone's hurting somehow. They say, I'm a good listener. So they are the ones who sit back and recite their stories over and over again. We laugh sometimes and other times, I pretend it was cute or funny. They don't understand, how my eyes gaze in the void like a hole stares at the dark room and my ears hear nothing but are so fond of the noise.
This time, he asks me to tell him my story. "My story? "It might be just a paragraph, you know. I don't know what to tell you", I continue. I write a lot of things but deep down I don't know from where to start my own story to speak. To tell you the truth, I don't want to say it all because it's too beautiful in my head.
"Ours is the cutest and my favourite", Lost in my reverie, nostalgia of his hazy voice travels on the track of my mind..
So I start to tell them, one word at a time. Smiling and frowning in the middle of the sentences. Trying to break them into halves to feed hopeful expressions. Halting at perfect pauses to feed myself some hope. They listen. They do everytime and most of the times, they hope for a beautiful end.
"So it's not the end is it?" "I don't know" "It's not"
You say, forget me as soon as you can. Run away, as far as you can. Cross that bridge, climb that tree, sing that song, smile as much as you can. Live. You stop, take a deep breath and say, "Fall in love again".
I don't think I can fall for someone else ever. But I think a lot about you. A lot a lot a lot. And when I almost forget about you, follow a map, try to escape. They catch me in the woods and we write a novel out of you. You say forget me and I start to remember you again. You ask me to run, I follow you back. I say, let's cross that bridge, climb that tree, sing that song, smile as much as you can;
You ask me to fall in love again, I do. Yes, I do. But it's always you for whom I fall.