They say one should fight one’s fear. But every time she tried to fix that damn hole in her house, it used to get broader. From the bloody shades of dawn to the jaundiced marks of dusk, every ray made her detest those impostor shades out there and everything that accompanied it. The poetic music of the chirping, the morning ether, which for this 2nd degree reality meant “face of hope and beauty”, stood completely evil, ugly and hopeless in this part of the fake land.
The walls of her house were cleared of all the captured frames of past. Her house, like the pumping organ in her body would not welcome anybody.
But he made it. He barged in without seeking permission but the laws of her senses could not stop him.
Since past 10 years I have been alone in this DARK house with her feeble heart, felt like her care taker. They call me maniac for living with her, following her ways. HAA! It never hurt. Shayad I was honored being her only friend. Each time she would shed tears in my lap, every reflection she would keep staring at and smile for hours. I never bothered to ask who it was, fearing it might deshape those rosy lips.
She never shared anything with me, not even the G-TALK stuff. My girl kept herself busy in some weird activities all day. In that cursed room she would assemble some photo albums, burn them one day, and cry over her own act the other day. She would scribble unusual stuff on the walls of her house and scratch them injuring her tender self which included both physical self and the girl’s soul for she would severely punish her for doing so.
All these years I hunted for a minutiae which would lead me to her story, their story but her past seemed all torn, ragged and destroyed. At times I felt like getting into her head and killing those hallucinating images that troubled her.
“SANDS WAITED ON THE SHORE
WAVES DIDN’T COME
SHELLS WERE ALL SET TO OPEN
BUT PEARLS TURNED INTO STONES”
She would repeat every time I tried to inquire.
Leaves paled and so did lives. I am 50 today. My little delicate friend Tamanna is lost.
Where? I have no clue…. Nobody tells me. They say she never existed…
Some psychiatrist Dr. Batra keeps on visiting me. He comes every Saturday but never prescribes me any medication.
God didn’t endow them with the power to heal hearts after all!!
Every day I would search for my girl in every corner of the house, in front of those mirrors, in those broken glasses, in every DARK corner possible… I even blocked that damned hole but trust me she was nowhere. They don’t trust me; they think I made stories about her existence.
HER HONOR ROOTED IN DISHONOR STOOD
AND FAITH UNFAITHFUL KEPT HER FALSELY TRUE
They laughed and they still do.
HAA!! It never hurt. Shayad I “am” honored being her only friend.
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