Hope

So I remember from a time.

It was one of those illicitly lit streets, that resonated the pitter patter of touristy feet. The backpacker, the ones looking for enlightment, the city dwellers looking for a perfect weekend getaway- all of them.

I remembered you again.

She was there many years ago, walking those very streets, singing those songs which are now in places of her memory that get unlocked only from the smell of certain t-shirts, from an occasional sentence that is phrased in a familiar style, from an old photograph that still clutches hard.

Last night, you were in my dreams.

These city dwellers were the strangest of the lot- came to places like these so unsure of what to do and expect, and yet they arrive by the bus full like clockwork, on Saturday mornings. They even get their own food for breakfast- all neatly wrapped in aluminium foils. What do you make of these people anyway? What can you say except how weird?

This is weird too; that I miss someone I have not met.

Needless to say, she was one of those travellers- running away from the madness of it all, if only for forty eight hours. The dark streets were so full of promise, the promise of anonymity can make you feel giddy and high.

I wrote to you a couple of times, I remember. But the email is now too painful to open.

They did what the entire lot of them so typically do: they came, they fell in love, they got hurt and parted. It is now considered very typical of a generation that swears by the microwave and instant gratification. Some forms of gratifications are like that, the hangovers keep fading in and out a number of times.

You were in my dreams last night, you were. Like Hope.

And then there are terrible nights, stormy nights. Where the nice fat book some how seems lacking in the promise of its company, and the purple blanket does not really keep you warm. The mornings following them are the worst of all- the heaviness from within, the haunting memories.

Maybe I can dash off yet another email today.

Uncertainty has this wonderful way of darting in your life, it maybe likes to party with the heaviness that has washed over you. Like she were a person, and he would hold her by the waist and saunter into the anonymity of those streets again. The smells of happiness that is so far away, that manifests itself if only through the screen of a computer, smiling those toothy ones at some vague party you don’t want to know about.

It’s like that, this crazy game. Sometimes you do not want to be in it. And sometimes you thank your stars that it happened.


Crazy hope, how I miss you today...