Wednesday, October 10, 2012


I have memories. They're stacked in my closet, hidden under my bed, lining the bookshelves, peeking from their secret spots all tucked away behind the curtains. They climb up my walls, and peek down at me while I lay in the dark. When I walk, I see them. They follow me when noone else is looking, but I sense them, sometime. Sometimes I know they're right there, and even when I stare at them they pretend that I haven't noticed. Or when I'm seated at my desk, I can feel the scurry of little feet underneath.

I smell them on a wet evening, while the winds are blowing and the trees are swaying in the dark. Or when I walk up the stairs of an old building, and each step takes me closer, creaking. They gather like dust, in dust, and think it's a camouflage. They perch on the windowsills, watching. 

Sometimes they think they are still alive. I don't know what to do with that knowledge. Do I tell them or should I not? When I open a door, I hear them run around for their hiding spots. But if I take a seat, and sit long enough, they creep close and sit by my side. They tell me things, but they don't have voices. When they speak, I hear them as if it is myself, reading another's letters in my own voice. 

They want to live on. Can you blame them? Sometimes they're broken, and missing parts. Sometimes, they keep walking in a direction that doesn't exist. When they tumble out from between pages, I fear for touching them, lest they crumble so aged and delicate they may be. Sometimes, I can feel them asking me questions. They want to know if they lived for a reason. I don't know how to tell them that I don't know. I tell them I think they did. They did not exist without purpose. 

There are little ones, they pull on the hems of my jacket. They curl themselves around my knees. They want me to meet their friends, who belong to others. Not mine. I know them, somehow. Sometimes they all look alike. And sometimes it hurts to look at others. Even though I may only have met them, it feels like I've known them forever. They want reassurance, even as they creep back into their hiding spots, they want to know if I will forget them? How do I tell them that I don't know if I can, even if I tried?


  1. Half the time I felt that I was watching some alien movie... with tiney aliens crawling around to creep on you :|

    Anyway, lighting lemon lamps with ghee at steps of this house. A little light makes things easier, doesn't it?

    1. Eths! Yes it's a bit supernatural, that's how I feel about memories. They're like ghosts. And, light always makes things easier, but in this case, it isn't that things are difficult :)

  2. Replies
    1. Sometimes when I can't put my emotions into words, you come along and do it for me.

      Thank you for that ☺

    2. You do that for me as well, Kia :)

  3. I visualized the entire post and now memories seem like little gremlins crawling about :O

    Jokes aside - Absolutely loved this post.

  4. yaadon mein woh sapnon mein hai jaaoon kahan dharkan ka bandhan to dharkan se hai

    saanson se hoon main kaise judaa apnon ko doo main kaise bhula :D

    perhaps this belongs in the butterfly blog ... but the thoughts seemed appropriate

    1. Yes. :) One cannot always separate the music from the sentiments, so they belong wherever they are apt :)