28/09/2016

I’m not sure if writing to you; now that you’re gone- holds any meaning, but I know I’ve been waiting long for something to catch me in strings and make me do this– It’s been long, the wait has had it’s toll.

I haven’t slept, I couldn’t- I know you disliked that. You never asked me why? Or be you already knew- The first time it happened.

It was 2 am, I couldn’t sleep. You and Mother got back together, it had been months- I slept in a small space in grandmother’s room and now being back in my own room, my own thoughts kept me awake- where was all of it going? I couldn’t figure it out and it robbed me of my sleep.

So I came down stairs and sat next to the dinning table, the music box on the gallery caught my attention- I picked it up and opened it. I didn’t want to turn the key- it was too simple, I had to open it, fiddle with the comb and see the teeth get plucked by the pins; seeing the cogs fickle and sing on my whim; forcing the key to move on its own.

It felt good.

It felt good not having to think about anything anymore. You entered the scene with your big mug of tea, You asked me if I couldn’t sleep. I shook my head and then I looked at you,  you were smiling.

It was the first time you smiled when I couldn’t sleep and it also became the last.

You wanted things to end like paperback novel endings sold in the children’s book section, but the story didn’t end that day did it?

But now the story has ended for you.
I don’t know the last moments you experienced-
I didn’t get to be alone with you.
I didn’t get the chance to show the letters I wrote to you,
I didn’t get to see you read them.

And I didn’t get to hear that you don’t even remember half of it.

When we came back home, I realized,
I wouldn’t get annoying midnight calls from you,
wouldn’t get to talk to you,
wouldn’t get to have lunch with you,
wouldn’t get to hear your voice,
I now knew the ending.

No more new moments.

I broke down.

128210-400x265-jsw_inside_of_a_music_box

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About Haris

I've never seen myself as a writer but sometimes words just flow out of my fingers.
This entry was posted in Diary, Letters and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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