She had a knack for making mighty monuments out of tiny hills and it always got me pissed.
For crying out loud, it should have been just another piece of paper containing hastily scribbled numbers that would later be dialled and discarded, but like I said,” she had a knack for making might monuments out of tiny hills”.
Or
How else would you explain to me why the paper containing the number was folded and kept in a box of valuables, why she had to occasionally rearrange the box and “accidentally” stumble on the paper. Why did she need to act like a child who had just found his long lost toy?
She tried to make me see, but i refused to understand the significance of the paper, or the handwriting, or the fact that it had been torn from a book that belonged to “him” or the graceful way the pen kissed the sheets. I refused to take note of how gallant the alphabets stood.
Why did she need me to so badly understand that it wasn’t in her head, that there was a spark and even though it is now a dead end, at least there was once a spark.
Hmm.
I want to make her see that it is okay to fall in love but definitely not okay to see the significance of the sunshine on a sunny day? For crying out loud, it is a sunny day.
She ought to know, that she is fire and diamond and all shades of awesome.
Tell her, that it is not okay to build monuments where it is actually just another landscape, that not every item is symbolic and worth keeping and even if it once was, a time comes when she should let go.
As for me, i will do my part.
She would go through that box and not find the paper again.
PS: It has been a while since I posted a short story here. I hope you liked it.
Download and listen to my debut spoken word ep #Breathe below.
