If someone asked me today what the best day of my life was so far, I would probably grow very quiet, I may wriggle uncomfortably and look away and avoid their gaze. If I were in a proper mood for spilling my heart, I would tell them about the day I woke up with a boy I loved, and the day we drove around aimlessly, getting lost, stopping at random cafés and at random yard sales (I love little garage sales but there are not that many on Sundays) and listening on repeat, to a silly hindi song ‘waji wah waji wah’ and which we newly christened as our song, even tho, my boy didn’t understand a word of it (he was French), but he loved the beat; the song had nothing to do with us, it was just a token of my silliness cause since we met, for the first time, he was flying off to Paris and we won’t be together for a while and when I first played it he hated it as he couldn’t understand. But somehow it turned itself into our song and then he couldn’t get enough. By the end of the day, he had the lyrics memorized and I was screaming the song along with him until my lungs ached. It would be the day when we went home, we continued our task of memorizing every inch of each other and I marked him as mine, and left my fingerprints, & bite marks firmly on his body and soul so he wouldn’t forget me. Ever !

I’ve spent a long time curled up in the comfort of knowing days like these can happen and they did. And now I spend all these days wondering what would have happened if he were alive. I still wear his clothes to remember his smell and time is taking that away from me as well.  These memories sting sharper than when my heart broke.

Last summer, I decided I would stop spooning with memories and that I’d learn how to live again. It’s the end of another summer now, and I still haven’t learned. Now the best day of my life has nothing to do with reality anymore. I drench in thunderstorms and I see the way my body looked against the sky, which is the dull grey shade of a hint of a tornado, & I try uselessly to love myself, more than I ever did when he read me.

He was the boy I loved quietly; he was the whisper when I went dancing; and he were the secret I told in my best friend’s ear; he was my swallowed emotions and that word left unspoken; he was the tightness in my chest and that chill which took my breath away; he is the ghost I keep dancing with; he was the dream I dreamt with bright eyes & gorgeous smiles; he was my spring when I sang; the summer I warmed up to, the fall when I danced and the winter when I hid; he was my song I keep humming; he was me I keep exhaling.

He is still a part of my life and after church today I met up with Jack & we went hiking and then to get some supper in a little bar. And there was this young couple, happy and laughing and I remembered our song and how he laughed at me as I got mad because he was making fun of me. I found enough courage to relive that day and I tried without success to keep the details from scratching my soul, creating pauses long enough to dull my ache. I kept singing that song on repeat in my head & I grew quiet, lips slightly trembling and I stared at my feet to cover something resembling painful sadness in my eyes & the tears that threatened to spill over their designated boundaries.

I wish I didn’t have to say goodbye to him and I thought it wasn’t going to hurt but it did and I just wish my memories would be kind and gentle to me and I wish they would just remind me who I was before melancholia had me in her tight embrace.

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