For I know, memories hit you at the wrong time. The time, when you decide to move on. For yourself. For everyone. For the love, you considered to be yours. For unsual banging of heart. For all the dying butterflies. For him. It's the end of month where everyone looks at the rose with bliss forgetting that it carries thorn along with it. I won't lie, even I've spent the half of my life believing in the theories that stars wraps the love of your life and shower it as a surprise when you least expect it. The reality is some of us never find love, and I'm not just talking about this moment but the one where your heartbeat starts ringing loudly - believing that he's the one. Believe me, he's not because love is not supposed to slip into your life just with a banging of heart. I remember the time, when I considered someone to be the part of similar oblivion that I've experienced in lanes of numbness. A part of life where every chapter ended with a different punctuation mark and where a possession held a noun for perpetual beginnings. These days of february were no different than those rhapsodies of fairlytale for me and this is the biggest lie I've ever lived. To be honest I almost forgot how spring used to feel when for all time I'd only seen the chills of December. I know, it's a cliche but that's how love is supposed to leave you. Isn't it beautiful to leave shards of the love slowly which you held as a possession for way too long? And here, I am walking through the pathway among the trees, dressed up in my favourite color, grooving on the tones of Coldplay-uncertain about the certainties of love. It's the feeling which I can't describe in words. I mean, how can one descirbe the feeling of getting drenched in rain for the first time? How can one capture the aroma of first love in the drops of rain? If I lock these feelings in the name of memories, will that justify everything?
