“Some birds aren’t meant to be caged. Their feathers are just too bright. And when they fly away, the part of you that knows it was shame to lock them up does rejoice but the place you live in is that much more drab and empty that they’re gone.”

He believes that it was Stephen King who said that. He is not sure, but then believes that what that is said is true. He had promised them both that if and whenever he will think of her, he will only think of all the good times they had. It is not that he isn’t reminded of them often, together. But when he does, he cannot think of anything else.

“Do you, really? Yes. Yes, I promise that I will never let go.”

When he said that, he meant the every single word. He never said much in front of her, her voice was the music to his ears. He liked to listen, whatever she said, it made him smile. He still smiles, but for every smile, a sense of loss still etches inside.

“I pray that you do not fall in love. When you dive in, you do it for life. And that is what it takes, the part which counts anyway.”

It is not that he doesn’t remember her. And when he does, there is no one to save the anguish. It is not that he hasn’t met anyone. But when he has, there is no one as such. It is not that he hasn’t tried to forget. But when he has, with all his might, he ends up worse than ever before. It is not that he hasn’t cried. But when he does, he fights to stop the tears that flow by.

People ask him if he is lonely. He says that he is alone, not lonely. There is a world of difference between the two. He makes them believe he falls on the former. He lies. To the crowd. To himself.

His story is poetic. He had a chance of life, he squandered it. He tried to rise from the ashes, but a part never healed. A part which still aches, a piece which never reappeared.

Indulgence helps. It clouds the feel. He likes being numb, he likes falling into the cocoon he has built for himself. His safehouse, his cell.

“You aren’t what you supposed to be. I can afford to lose you.” He thought he meant it when these words came out. The time in the night is dark because you can imagine your fears with less distraction. Ever since, he has been trying.

Seeing her always made him smile. Remembering her still does. It feels like a different life. He isn’t angry at her, but can never find peace with himself. He has looked for it, but could never find closure. He always knew the answer, but what is the point when the mind does not accept the answer to the simple question: “why?!”

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