A married man.

I am a married man. Ah yes! I married the most beautiful woman I ever met, yesterday. She had grace of sorts. Oh, you read that right, ‘had’. I used ‘had’ because she is no more. Damn. I am saying it so casually, she’s no more. SHE’S NO MORE.

DSC_8989 The walls of my heart, ache. I can feel my brain; my skull has gone numb. I can feel my eyebrows, even when they don’t meet. I can hear the silence, howling. It feels incomplete. My marriage feels incomplete. She’s no more. But I shouldn’t cry. I am a man. And men don’t cry. I am wiping this trail off my eye, but I am not crying. Are you hearing me? I am not crying.

I remember how she used to dance. Even rains were music to her. How she used to make me smile when I sat clueless thinking about my future. She had promised to stay by my side even when I lost faith in myself. SHE HAD PROMISED. Mom taught me, when I was a child, not to trust people who broke promises. I don’t trust her anymore.

How she made dishes for me wasting her time watching dumb recipe soaps! How she saved her pocket money to buy me a shirt at the year end! How she sneaked out of her home at two just to have an ice-cream with me at her staircase. And that, she fought with her classmate who called me ‘jerk’? (I found that cute)

Those unsaid promises she made, those silent gestures of hers, all meant to say that she cared. I remember days when I used to wait for her at the bus stand and she would run and shout ‘sorry’ holding her ears from afar for being late. She never failed to make me smile. She told me stories that never had an end. She was beautiful, with all what she did.

She talked and danced merrily. When people saw her, they envied her for who she was. She was awesome. She was mine. But she’s no more.

Our favourite spot to meet always was the terrace. That’s where we fought, way too much. She never liked me complaining. I am not complaining. Are you understanding? I am not complaining. She’s not there. To fight with me. But I am not complaining.

She told me stories at night. Her warm hands moved over my head with the stories. I sometimes slept of midway. Or wait, I’ll tell you the truth. I pretended to have slept midway, just to see her smile at me, kiss my forehead. I longed to see many such nights, fight many such fights. But the one who loved me, is no more. I was a married man, for a day.

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on “A married man.
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