The room of lost love.

The balcony door still doesn’t close. When the evening breeze slips through it, the curtains acknowledge it with a flutter. They create a tide of sorts, imitating the sea. As dawn creeps in, everything becomes still- except the dust specks seen in the sunlight coming through the door.

The sound of the sea. the sound of birds flying near the beach. The sound of the tides hitting the shore. The sound that once reverberated in the house. Today, the closed windows separate the sound from the silence in the room.

The candle on the corner the house- witness to smiles, tears, laughter, passion, jealousy, abuses and wounds. Once the lights would deliberately be switched off to make way for the candle light to mellow the air. Trying to figure out the words each other’s eyes spoke when they could hardly see each other is what filled the air with love.

The uncorked bottle of wine on the table, and the two glasses. The glasses were used for sure. Haven’t been washed, maybe. There is still some wine left in one of them. Maybe he hasn’t noticed it yet. Or, maybe, he has just deliberately left it untouched.

Sometime back love bloomed here, everyday. But then, hearts broke. And, like a souvenir, the broken glass on the window pane still stands there. Broken pieces still not picked up from the floor.

It's time to pack up, again.

I tried my best, but, evidently, it was not meant to happen. I could have asked for her love promising the best of the world’s comfort but then I knew I would be fooling myself if I did so. She, from what I know, is not the kinds who would look for comforts at the price of a compromise. I, on the other hand, have nothing more to offer other than my best efforts to keep her happy. And I know, my best may not be good enough.

We have spent considerable amount of time together-at least enough to judge whether we can trust each other or not. I thought I was trusted. But the other day when she was listing down the people she trusted, I did not figure in the list. Not that it didn’t pinch me. It did. But it also made it clear that I probably can never be the one. An SMS few moments later confirmed it. It wouldn’t make any difference if I was in her life or not. I spent the next week drinking. I thought when I would get out of the fuddle, I would be out of her. I drank, puked, drank, puked again- countless number of times. End of it, I was still in love with her.

Ever since, I have been trying to let her know what I feel about her. I can’t ask her that one question because I know the answer. A proposition now would also put all the time we spent together, under scrutiny. My intentions might be questioned. I don’t want to complicate things for us. Even if she doesn’t love me, I am still happy that she is in my life in some way or the other. I don’t want to take an “all or nothing” chance.

I don’t blame her either. If I were in her shoes, I would probably have done the same. Past cycles of events have projected a different picture of mine to the world and I know it wouldn’t be easy for her to convince herself about me going by what has run by her eyes and ears. Anyone in her senses would not accept me as I am. On the contrary, she always extended her hands when I needed support-despite her reservations about me, maybe. She, in her own small ways, always tried to cheer me up whenever I was upset and has given me a million moments to smile.

But then, everyday looking at someone I love so badly, knowing very well that she cannot be mine, is not easy. Since nothing else worked, I have decided to move out of the city. Sometimes you need to leave the hand to touch the heart, you need to move away only to get closer, you need to stop speaking and let silnce take over. I hope it works. Life would be meaningless otherwise. Two more weeks here and then I will be out of the city. I hope a miracle happens and I come back for her, or come back to take her with me. Till then, I will wait.