A love story- long lost

With each passing day I feel calming within like death filling in with its nothingness. After a long while, I prepared coffee for myself after an evening head wash. I feel at peace within.

Just before stepping into that warm shower, I visited one of my haunts. A story I had read before, I went over again to read through its words. A queer feeling envelops me while re-reading. I tend to re-live within the exercise of reading and grasping. I transform into the story- mostly within the protagonist’s skin enlivening every bit of those emotions that the protagonist is supposed to live through or convey. I create another identity and live yet another life within the told story.

I promised the author to write a detailed comment the day I read it. I went back to read the lines again. In no time I could see myself breathing within the published words. I am producing the bit here in my blog.

I am yet saving my words for this one- like I said, I will in detail lest I miss any shade. Stopped by since wanted to read you… listen to your words. It was after posting the comment I realized I actually said what I wished to.

I have been that woman in your story- once maybe… only to be left being called unworthy, orphan and ineligible, being forced to and brutally deserted to fight my things on my own. No amount of begging or pleading had worked out. It wasn’t to stay over- for there wasn’t anything to define whatever it was or to hold upon- it was for support. Such love as depicted here- I’m envious already. Heart yearns for it- mind cautions against- for the evermore is a figment of fairy tale dimension. It wasn’t that one time that I was estranged. Father gave a start to what every man I ever met since has kept going. That one time I really wanted to die for and wait till beyond… I was left to do exactly that! It took several years thereafter for me to get over that love- if that was and hurt both. Over two decades of feelings were let go of erasing the memories which for long had made me smile- tickling me to life, to run about and catch the dreams. There are chances he might be reading it here and know it’s for him. I know not how he would feel for I don’t feel for him anymore.

I am yet to decide… if it was really love or I was hopelessly hoping for it. Several stories happened through that one and even thereafter, each time I tumbling and falling over after falling in head over heels. Stories those would never be told. I have kept the better part of each with me and grown indifferent to its occurrence otherwise. Though he never stayed to help me; yet, aptly reminded me of who I am before pushing me out of his life and this time perhaps, forever. Shamelessly he had agreed then how right I was in judging him when I had- we were all of twelve then!

That fight is still on- it wasn’t resolved in the way it was required for lack of support; piece by piece I am picking the dead twigs. The battlefield has changed, so have the names or should I say characters? I am bruised and dragging still…

Life doesn’t stop and that’s the lesson I’m trying to learn. That’s not the only hurt. The intensity or definition may vary, that wasn’t the only love either.

I’m yet to feel, love back, loved and accepted for who I am. I am ready to sing again, laugh about and be in love and perhaps even die for… I’ve drawn curtains to most of them, even left the stage, waiting for my drama to take place – of my choice, choosing the real prince to be my prince… There you go- the fairy tale takes over again “smiles”

Such are your words- evoking, invoking… kicking back the dead to live. May you breathe thousand breaths; a few for me for I don’t anymore.

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About Olivia

Corporate worker, textile designer, writer.
This entry was posted in My Biopic Log, My Grievances and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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