There she sat, right on that couch with a diary on her lap and my head over her shoulder. The couch now glares at me with disgust, as it kisses the void that she left. She was different from them, not the way she looked or spoke but the way she lived. In a world where we gaze at the stars, she would sing them songs. She had that magic in her, the kind they talk about in those fairy tales.

Whenever it rains, it reminds me of her. Bits by bits, over the decaying years, we have drifted apart. Yet somehow the first rain drop that kisses the turf, the petrichor hits me up with that old fragrance that she devolved upon me everytime she embraced.

I remember, I gave up writing before I met her. I lost my faith in people. I felt they were not worthy. Every time I wanted to write, I would end up writing tales of betrayal and grief. But one fine day, she happened. I remember the vibe that was oozing out of her, I remember the way she laughed. I remember the way she walked up to me, the way she asked me to smile. I don't remember why and how, but I remember I came home that day and picked up my pen again. I wanted to write something happy. And when she was gone, she left me behind with deserted nights and incomplete poems.

I still remember that afternoon, when I asked her to leave. No tears, nor any frown. Just with that usual smile on her lips, she hugged me. "Only love isn't enough to keep two people together" she mumbled in my ears. "All good things must come to an end, but their essence remain forever" were her last words and my heart stopped beating ever since. Yet I somehow managed to survive. The hands that once held mine, taught me that you don't always need to hold on to something, to survive. Her name still echoes within my empty walls, her essence still prevails on my cold bed. That empty photo frame still looks like her, and this hole in my heart still feels like her. She was right about forevers I feel. Forever is a paradox they say. Paradox was her favourite fragrance, afterall.


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