Five years later, I am back to square one. What a fool to think a month with her would end up somewhere on the dusty shelves of my memory. My craving speaks otherwise.
For sweet melodies remain merciless, as they touch my old wound and bend me. They pluck on the chords of my insecurity, and leave me stripped of my walls, an easy prey to be ravaged by nostalgia. I set aside my worries of the day, and sober up to an old photograph, which makes my heart leap with a strange blend of joy and sorrow, deviced to remind me of the dream that I once let go.
I surrender to the weight of the beautiful memory, and indulge my deprivation with a drawing. I realize that the need for this emotional fix is far more powerful than the sketch that will be. So I succumb and bring my pad and charcoal sticks that i have long forgotten. I lose myself to the melody and make my first marks. That trace of charcoal hugging her face reveals what love i tried time and again to burry with other names. I curse myself as I blend the shades and shadows with my finger tips, knowing that this is as close as I will ever get to touching her face.
All the pedestals have been struck down, and all the flaws revealed. All the years have been spent chasing her, and chasing her away. All the routes have been taken, and they all bring me back to her. My tears run free. No use holding them back now.
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