Sometimes I feel like, I could have written about him, every day after every happy moment, when he used to sing to make me laugh, when he called me to show how long is his hair now, the new flowers on his plants, when he clicked and saved photos of all the silly things he saw, cat that messed up his bike seat, evening snacks, birthday cakes and pictures of everything just to share with me later, I could write about him when he cracked jokes to make me happy, when he appreciated me for something silly, when I found his presence as pure magic, when he stayed up late to comfort me, how much his long hair suited on that small face, how lucky I was to find him, when he struggled to be with me yet never come with idea of a break up, when sat next to me sort things if something went wrong, how beautiful those eyes were, how deep that voice was, I could write about every happy moments and keep it somewhere so that he can read again, we can read again, but I all I did was whispering all these things in his ears. words written can be read again but who will remember those whispers, even if they do, how long? How clearly?

I could have written it, for that will remind him how special he was, every time he read. how happy I was, how grateful I was, but I don't know how I ended up writing the sad things, inconveniences, regrets and mistakes alone, I wrote painful things and I made it eternal and let all the happy things be a whisper, I pinned the painful words in these pages and erased the existence of happiness by ignorance.

May be that's why after all these years, we are here with no evidence of happiness we had, there is nothing to remind him how my heart used to melt when I hear him calling me my name, how I used to smile thinking about something he said months back, or years back, how much I remember about him, how happy and proud I used to feel. I can only ask him if he remember that, and I can not make him remember, regret I let all the happy things to fade by focusing on the sad things.

I regret all I wrote was about pain when it was only a drop, when he was a river of ecstasy.
© redpaint


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