Of memories and farewells

There is bereavement in every ending, no matter how longed for. We walk, from day to day, goal to goal, life to death, and for what? Only to hope, to long, to desire, to dream, for what else is there to keep us going? And our hopes fail, shattering our hearts, and we pick up the pieces and hope for miracles. Again. The lines you see on my face, and under my eyes are where I glued the fragments of my unspoken dreams, so many times that I lost count. And we keep walking, and hoping, and sometimes our wishes come true, and our wildest dreams are fulfilled, and there is so much joy in my share that I will never be able to take it all in, say all my words, sing all my songs. So I soak in the warmth as stories get overlapped and faces get blurred and I don’t even know how the time has flown. And then it’s time to go home.

There is a charm about winter afternoons, like a thin film of invisible glass that separates the world from you. You watch the neon skies and the laughing people and the busy people and the bright lights on the streets. None of it can touch you, for the melancholy of another ending has taken you far away. You’re still singing happy songs inside your head, and you don’t know why it sounds like weeping. Or maybe, just maybe, the glass breaks, and the warmth of afterhours still seeps in, and your heart is so full with love and gratitude that you can barely speak, so you hide away behind a casual remark, and a light laugh. And at night, in bed, when you’re asleep and dreaming dreams that you won’t remember in the morning, perhaps there’s a smile playing at the corner of your lips.

When the fairy lights have twinkled out

And the echoes have long stopped,

When the road has stretched and curved again,

Remember me, my love.

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There’s a new cover coming tomorrow.

 (Pic credit: @nuancesbypaul on Instagram)