I wish the sky to show me the Sun today; the sunshine of the first day of February that should have warmth of yours, and the clumsiness that your open hairs had on me. I wish if it could cover my face again. The flowers have already bloomed. I wish them to hold their fragrance good till you hold my hands again. My hands are empty though, but I know you would be holding them wherever you are now. I am waiting for the butterfly you always send, to let me know that you have put your face on my heart again. You had filled the colors daintily on the piece of paper with your lipstick stains in pink; and the nightingale had parceled it to me last year. I am waiting for if she is going to come to me again. I am waiting for if she is going to address me your message –‘Oh Love! You are mine’.

Though you chose to move away, I know it was not by your choice. You said you needed to go, but you had waited for me, I know. I was looking for you too, but couldn’t utter a word about you. The song we composed together stays revived, and it says that you are still here, in my heart where you always hived. This February, I play the tune again that you taught me on my guitar; and it’s my birthday too honey, and I am going to sing Happy Birthday to me myself, because you moved away so far.

How should I blame the fortunes, its him that made us meet; and if we couldn’t stay longer then I must not curse him for this bad treat. I know you would be unhappy too, because you had promised to live with me until I don’t leave. February is just a month, you made its relevance for me indeed. And at this note, I read your note that has your lipstick stains on it and it says ‘Oh Love! You are mine’.

When I walk around in spring, I remember to keep my hold on flowers soft. Tickling my fingers on the rosy petals reminds me of your fingers on mine, and my thumb caressing them slowly. I can’t hurt your hands with my grip hard, and so I touch the flowers soft. Though birds often do the chirruping that may resemble your scolds for me, but I miss the movement of your lips that I used to watch while you kept scolding me.
The tree with our names on it stands intact with his mates even today, but I sit under its shadows alone now. I touch our names engraved on it, and I recall how a girl proposed a boy- ‘Oh Love! You are mine; forever would you be my Valentine?’


[For We Have a Story]



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