reminiscence

Every quote, every book, every film seemed to suggest that __ne day_ someone would come into my life and love me with an intensity and a passion I had never experienced before. And to their credit they were right; It all came and went so fast it really did feel as if it were just __ne day_....

He looked at me like I was the stars when all I__ ever felt like was the dark nothingness between them.

He was both everything I could ever want_And nothing I could ever have_

The last time I felt alive _ I was looking into your eyes.Breathing your air_. touching your skin_ Saying goodbye_.The last time I felt alive_. I was dying.

I miss that feeling of connection.Knowing he was out there somewhere thinking about me at the same time I was thinking about him.

If you cannot hold me in your arms, then hold my memory in high regard.And if I cannot be in your life, then at least let me live in your heart.

I had someone once who made every day mean something.And now_. I am lost_.And nothing means anything anymore.

_the sad part is, that I will probably end up loving you without you for much longer than I loved you when I knew you.Some people might find that strange.But the truth of it is that the amount of love you feel for someone and the impact they have on you as a person, is in no way relative to the amount of time you have known them.

If I could go back would I do it differently? Well, I can't go back.

To want to tackle everything rationally is irrational.

__he was not a little girl heart-broken about him; she was a grown woman smiling at it all, but they were wet smiles.

That was our first home. Before I felt like an island in an ocean, before Calcutta, before everything that followed. You know it wasn__ a home at first but just a shell. Nothing ostentatious but just a rented two-room affair, an unneeded corridor that ran alongside them, second hand cane furniture, cheap crockery, two leaking faucets, a dysfunctional doorbell, and a flight of stairs that led to, but ended just before the roof (one of the many idiosyncrasies of the house), secured by a sixteen garrison lock, and a balcony into which a mango tree__ branch had strayed. The house was in a building at least a hundred years old and looked out on a street and a tenement block across it. The colony, if you were to call it a colony, had no name. The house itself was seedy, decrepit, as though a safe-keeper of secrets and scandals. It had many entries and exits and it was possible to get lost in it. And in a particularly inspired stroke of whimsy architectural genius, it was almost invisible from the main road like H.G. Wells_ __agic Shop_. As a result, we had great difficulty when we had to explain our address to people back home. It went somewhat like this, _... take the second one from the main road_.and then right after turning left from Dhakeshwari, you will see a bird shop (unspecific like that, for it had no name either)_ walk straight in and take the stairs at the end to go to the first floor, that__ where we dwell_ but don__ press the bell, knock_ and don't walk too close to the cages unless you want bird-hickeys__('Left from Dhakeshwari')

The fifties are a peaceful time, a quiet sleeping time between two noisy bursts of years, a blue and white time filled with sweet yellow days, music and bright smelling memories.

Your memory feels like home to me.So whenever my mind wanders, it always finds it__ way back to you.

I'll never miss a chance to remind you of what a brat you were. A gloriously beautiful and very spoiled brat. I was utterly charmed by your complete self-absorption. It was rather like courting a cat.

There were so many of these moments that could never be captured accurately, even in the camcorder, only in the heart.

Ah God! to see the branches stir Across the moon at Grantchester! To smell the thrilling-sweet and rotten Unforgettable, unforgotten River-smell, and hear the breeze Sobbing in the little trees. Say, do the elm-clumps greatly stand Still guardians of that holy land? The chestnuts shade, in reverend dream, The yet unacademic streamIs dawn a secret shy and cold Anadyomene, silver-gold? And sunset still a golden sea From Haslingfield to Madingley? And after, ere the night is born,Do hares come out about the corn? Oh, is the water sweet and cool, Gentle and brown, above the pool? And laughs the immortal river still Under the mill, under the mill?Say, is there Beauty yet to find? And Certainty? and Quiet kind? Deep meadows yet, for to forget The lies, and truths, and pain?_ oh! yet Stands the Church clock at ten to three? And is there honey still for tea?

In going back we must take our present selves with us: the mind has taken a different colour, and this is thrown back upon our past.