My childhood years weren't the best years of my life, but I was happy as much as I remember. My parents loved me the way a flowering plant cherishes its newly bloomed flowers. I remember looking at my childhood pictures and observing the innocence of a kid who hadn't seen the thorns of a rose, but only its bright red, soft petals. As I sit amidst the shards of what is left in my world, memories flood my mind like a lifeline. It feels like my mind has traveled back in time, while my body remained seated on the cold cushion of the bed. The broken pieces of my present seem to fade away, replaced by the warm, golden light of memories.
I remember running across the fields, barefoot through the dewy grass, while the sun shone bright on my face. The odour of wet mud, the magical smell of my mother's cooking, the feeling was divine. Looking around, it felt like the wind was telling tales of the sky, to the ground, through the long trunks of the palm trees. The tales might be the birth of new stars or the death of old ones, maybe about the flock of birds gliding through the sky, or the gossip of the clouds planning when and where to rain. Even sitting in my room, I could almost hear the soft tweeting of the baby birds on seeing their mother and the hustle of the dogs playing while running to and fro.
From my mind's eye, I could see a little girl, wearing her favourite pink frock, playing around in the field, plucking small and colourful flowers, and running after little butterflies. I could see my younger form, smiling brightly, dancing like never again. Her laughter echoes in my mind, carefree and contagious, as she played around in the vibrant fields, without a care in the world.
At 08:50 a.m., I opened my eyes, finally got up from my bed and walked into the washroom. Looking at myself in the mirror, I don't know how, but I saw my younger self looking at me with disappointment in her eyes.
"How could you do this to me?", she whispered, her eyes begging for a proper answer.
"It just … happened. I never wanted to hurt you."
I replied, trying to force a smile, "It is all because of a person I loved…"
She sighed as though she had heard this excuse a hundred times, but didn't say anything in return and just vanished.
Then, at last, I looked at myself in the mirror. Tear bags were visible, carrying years of pain. My eyes were red due to the tears that I had shed. Did he say anything which made me cry? Nope, his memories disturbed my thought process. My cheeks were streaked with tears, like two streams of a river which get to flow rarely. I washed my face, the cold water hitting the uncomfortable warmth caused by my tears on my face. I stepped back and leaned my body against the cold, hard wall of the washroom before I closed my eyes.
In my mind's eye, I saw a little girl, of age four or five, wearing a pink colour shirt with a panda drawn on it and light blue pants. She was smiling at the pictures which were clicked by her dad. It was her first day of Nursery. Inside the building, there were two rooms, one play room and the other for teaching. The smell was like that of daisies, soft and sweet. Everyone was decked up in various colours, all bright and shiny, maybe small fishes swimming around in shoals or maybe butterflies flying around, making a beautiful kaleidoscope of colours in motion.
In the present reality,
The array of bright colours had faded and bleached into something dull and hazy.