Ila, it has been six years. And I still sit for hours each day, with a pen in the hand and haunting memories on mind, to write you a few words.
As days turn into a pool of complicated emotions, I try to make myself believe that time unfairly made you wave an early goodbye to life.
The desire to have you back gets unbearable with each slipping minute. We have had our years of togetherness, but they were not evidently enough for a life lived in a hustle.
I remember the promises we could never keep, and the thoughts stifle me.
There aren’t any unspoken words left behind or some hidden feeling that I want you to unwrap. But our lives had been a chaotic rush and I want you to come back and share a breath of tranquillity with me.
I want you back for a few moments that we could spend together; moments that do not run between the points of joy and sorrow, but find their way to peace.
And even though I keep blaming time, somewhere within I am aware that the blame game is nothing but just a hollow respite from guilt. I know it was us. Time sold you to death when it had to. I know it’s a lie when I use the term ‘early’.
We set peace as a destination and that is why we could never have it in our journey.
I don’t regret not being beside you when you were breathing your last, but I regret not having shared a dose of peaceful breath with you before you were rendered unable to breathe anymore.
Now when I realize that each breath of life deserves some peace, I wish you could come back for a while to breathe with me.
And the more this wish seems impossible, the more our love seems wasted.
If only the haste was worth it, Ila. But turns out that it was not.
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