Looking for an Echo

There has been a certain wariness in my mind to talk about love for the past few years, not directly at the very least. It's hardly ever been unsung about me finding comfort in unrequited love, not being reciprocated or understood by the other person. W. Somerset Maugham said, “The love that lasts the longest is the love that is never returned”. I'm surrounded by people I can talk to and have an honest conversation with, people you can just spend far too many awful cups of tea or coffee on.

My doctor wrote a line from a Kahlil Gibran poem on the front page of his book that he gifted me, 'Remembrance is a form of meeting.' The next line in the poem reads,'Forgetfulness is a form of freedom.' My best friend Anish says, there's nothing more beautiful than distance, you learn to compensate through words exchanged and letters were written. He said to me,"You know what I think Rupsha? I think people are scared of being alone...they need to hold on to things". There's that certain human error. We believe more in the assurance of touch and sound. You see, keeping in mind about that particular trait when we mature and we grow into someone different, how do we stop missing the past, the person we once used to be before reality kicked in? How do we stop revisiting the memories over and over again? I've lost enough beloved ones to know that distance and absence are not the same thing, often confused otherwise.

I've always missed memories more than I have missed people. There is a thin line dividing the two sides even if they are of completely different shades. Nostalgia perhaps is addictive. Recollection of happy personal associations is like a warm blanket, a scented candle, lemon and honey tea in my favorite white cup. The question still remains, is reminiscence a source of happiness or merely another form of blues? ------Rupsha B