The Sunday Lover

Her eyes carried mist. Only he saw. Her silence said a story. Only he heard. He saw her everyday. From a distance. Like a fan sees his favorite celebrity. Wishing to meet her one day. Talk to her one fine day. Perhaps she was an unknown creature to the world. But a world to this creature.

He longed to see her that sunday evening. He took his horse and let him gallop and not stop till where she lived. Where the river Dove waved. He passed the roads. Those roads were close to his heart. You know why? Those were the roads where he saw her for the first time. A smiling lady. A fresh rose of the June. He called her.

He rode his horse to her window. The streak of the moonlight falling on her cot, falling on her face. Making her hair strands shine. “She’s beautiful.” He murmured.
He sat there, watching her asleep. Watching the moon descend every few minutes. Buying various thoughts. The weirdest, ‘What will I do without her?’

No. She didn’t wish to live a life of anonymity. Perhaps no one knew her. Who was she? What she did? Who her family was? No one wanted to know. But he loved her. He only had to gather some more courage to tell her, that dawn. The moon bid good-bye and took his courage with it.

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“Some other dawn, I will say.” he promised himself. Perhaps it was too late. He was brought before her grave. She was numb. Her eyelashes stopped shinning. Her face stopped glowing. A smile, he still wishes to see. Her smile. He craves to listen to her voice, to listen to her endless talks. She is still.
The trees. As motionless as her. The rocks and the stones. As gloomy as her.
The name they craved on the tomb ‘Lucy’. No one knew her surname. The period they wrote was only her death year. They were yet to be told that she was a 22 year old naive lady who was loved crazily by this mister. It made no difference to anyone about her death. It made, only to him.

For months, he loved her from afar. Noticing each minutest detail she noticed. He went to places then, to forget her. But every time, he was reminded of her. She loved the mountains and she loved standing and looking around the riverside. There he stood. This time, all alone, without his love, along the riverside.

Forgetting her was something he was yet to manage to do. All he regretted was, he should have said, all what he felt, to her before her sudden uninvited death.
However, he dreams a dream again, his life with her, in the next lane.

Inspired from ‘Lucy’ by William Wordsworth

Fall in love
Love thyself
Cheers 🙂

5 Comments

on “The Sunday Lover
5 Comments on “The Sunday Lover
  1. Pingback: The Sunday Lover | RjMist

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