She came in like the bright summer sun and left before I could fully bask in the warmth of her presence. I was a blank sheet of paper before she painted my life with the vibrant colors of her personality. I was an empty goblet before she filled my heart with the timeless wine of her love. My soul was like a barren piece of land which bore fruit after her constant efforts at mending the broken person that I was. And then, before I could fully grasp the fact that this magical being was indeed mine, she was gone. Gone. Moved on to a world where she could be better appreciated by the souls as divine as her. And I was left to cope up with my loss.
But I can't. My world is colorless, tasteless, meaningless, just as it was before she touched it and turned it into gold. There is nothing left of her, even her ashes were sprinkled on to the Ganges, making it more pristine and pure than it already was.There is nothing that bears testimony of her existence, there is no proof of the fact that she ever did make my dead heart beat again. All that is left of her is that worn out white pullover that protected her fragile body from the chill, but could not protect her from the car crash that eventually ripped the life out of her.
I won't wish you a Happy Valentine's Day, readers, for I don't believe in this ritual which brings disappointment for some, heartbreak for others, and a sense of loss for the lonely.
PS. Sorry for such an emo post. You see, grief is infectious too.