The sound of conversations woke me today. As hard as I tried, I failed to drown them out. Surrendering the warmth, I followed my routine. The routine that I slowly ingrained was to learn to ignore the ghost. My indecisive nature is no help in choosing the music playlist every morning. Most days, I end up playing only my favourite songs. I check myself out in the mirror, and the realisation of growth and baby steps changes makes my heart warm. As I went about the day, my gallery filled with pictures of clouds, stray cats, and friend's candids. My mind replays the day as I head home after college. It keeps itself occupied with morbid jokes, my friends being cute, the known stranger, and curious small questions. As it becomes dark and cold, the weight of the heart pendant feels heavier, and all joy drains. I think about reaching out to a friend, but the fear of rejection weighs heavy. The reality that I can never reach out to her breaks it even more. The heart pendant picture of her and me together is something I cannot have anymore, even if I beg forever.
When you are born with another soul, you are bound to them. There is a bridge straight to her in me that has gone empty since her death. Silence answers me every time I whisper her name. She was my home, and after her, homesickness is all I am. From hating life to liking it, time has passed in my world. After all, how can I hate something she loved so much? The way she smiled at every little thing. She loved humans and animals. She petted stray cats and sighed at the clouds. I was her complementary pair, the cold to her warmth. She loved the roses, and I loved the fallen petals. She wondered about the wing's colour when she noticed a cocoon. I thought if the caterpillar refuses to come out, will it die? Once, someone asked me what losing your twin feels like. I silently answered it is like losing all your favourite things in one go.
My thoughts break with the memory of getting lost in the city, and the help of ten strangers and four buses to reach the destination gives me a faint smile. I hope to forget a single detail of this adventure—the mispronounced destination name, the chatter of conductors, and the self-embarrassed laugh about being on the wrong bus. I want to tell her to make her laugh and call me silly. I have learned to like life, but I will equally like dying.
I want to feel everything there is to offer, from the sweetest love to the most painful heartbreaks. I want to experience winning as well as losing. My life is an adventure, and I want to see humans being humans. The idiocy of actions done in the name of love. What is love if you cannot do something in its name? The way humans love is beautifully tragic, where one stays in its name and the other leaves. I want to be able to tell her a bazillion stories. She is my home, and I can’t wait to go home and tell her all about my day.
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