Yes, I know. I know I have written this several times over and some more. But now its not for me. This is for a dear friend who is special in a special way, someone whose poetry goes beyond mere words, someone whose writing amazes me every time I read it and someone who I have grown to admire each passing day. But, this is not about her. Its about what she feels and what she feels is important.
This seems like its going nowhere, but it is. We always have questions, I have many, all the time about everything. Some of my questions hardly have an answer, when i cant find them, I write. I also write when I find them. Questions like why people meet when they have to part? Or why people decide that its time they parted ways? And when they do come back for whatever reason, what do you do? Welcome them with arms wide open or say screw you too?
No, its not about love. Not at all. Its about friendship and the love within. Ok that sounds weird, I shall rephrase. Its about memories, gathered, nurtured, fallen and gathered again. Enough and more to fill a life time. 'Memories' is not a plural of 'memory'.
What do you do when a friend walks out on you? A friend who meant more than life itself, who meant music beyond orchestra, who meant poetry beyond prima facie phrases, who meant all that and much more. You go back to all those songs that dint mean the same once. Those conversations that lasted hours, when time was just another word. So now are they all meaningless? Or had I forgotten that nothing lasts forever? Or was I expecting too much?
What do you say when they tell you 'I dont feel the closeness anymore, I have changed, not you?' without realizing that everything changes for the 'you' post-profound-statement... It happened to me, not once but several times over, it happened to her and I am sure it happens to you too...But only because something happens so often it doesn't mean life is like that! Or maybe it does, I don't know.
My best friends have walked out, moved away, without a warning, a sign or a signal. But if you know them well enough, you would understand that they have better things to do than making memories with you. Thats a sign, you choose to ignore. Well, I chose to ignore.
I was telling her, I cant write about this cos my wounds have healed or i have scratched them so bad that they don't bleed anymore. I am immune, or so I thought. Her wounds are fresh, mine don't seem any different. But i am only wounded, not dead yet! Neither is she.
Life goes on, people change, you change too. Sorry for sounding like an introductory paragraph of some crappy psycho book, but its true. What remains is the M word. What do you do with those?
For you, my friend I have only this to say:
'Meet and part is the scheme of life, Part and meet is the hope of life'
Shit happens. We need to learn how to flush, now and again and forever.