The year I met you
Two cups of coffee are almost down, a scribbled notepad and here I am writing my fifth article with all kinds of scattered, stupid and reckless thoughts inside me. As I flip through the pages of my notepad, I find your handwriting on it which brings back all kinds of memories.
I did not meet you in autumn, or on all those days when I partied hard and there was no one to listen to my stories, You were not there when this broken soul needed a hug or when I was drunk and photographed by my friends. You were not there when this soul needed a friend to talk to or probably when she laughed too hard to be noticed in the crowd. No, you were not there, but I met you like I meet a lot of people. But then I am writing about you with some unfinished chapters and half sipped coffee in one hand. You ask me why I write about you? but why won’t I write about you? You taught me a thousand things at once. You taught me that inside the strong girl I had carried the child in me through the years. You taught me about how to love and how to carry my little heart within. You did to me what Gerry did to Holly, what Coldplay songs did to lyrics. You are that favourite part of the chapter which I would read again and again. You showed me the way and even if I was scared to walk in the path, guess I always knew I had you. So, don’t ask me, why I write about you my dear because our story is something which is not ordinary, I always knew that. Tonight my love, I would like to explore my fingers and go beyond by threshold. Hang on a second! aren’t you the one I was waiting for all this time? Aren’t you those sugar-coated words I wanted to hear? Aren’t you that moon that woke me every night? Aren’t you that favourite Coldplay song that I want to hear again and again? Those lines from my favourite poet that I always wanted to hear. This is the moment I have been waiting for. Is this the right moment for worldly destruction to occur? Is this the right moment when the world would know about our love and something that we share deep inside us? Let me be a writer then. Cause tonight my love, there is no fear, no self – control. I want to write every little thing about you. Your sorrows, your emptiness and everything else. I want to know your secrets, share them with me so that for once I can live and die for them. Let me be a writer for once who writes only for you. Let me be your favourite lyrics so that the world can hear you tune it again and again. let the world know about my poems and stories that have never got published.
Our story is something that cannot be named. At one point you can be the monster I want to tear off the other time you are the sweetheart I would never want to let go of. Our story needs a direction, a way through which two souls gets reunited. It is not written earlier or photographed by any. It is a story, which is one of a kind.
By Poonam Chatterjee