My fragile heart holds a box in its corner. The box is safe and is opened frequently. Almost at every crack of the dawn when I open my eyes and at every night when I struggle to sleep. Sometimes with an ocean in the eyes and other times with a wave of my smile, big enough to forget the cracks in the hearts you have caused.
It’s a box full of your pictures. Pictures, which I have captured through my eyes whilst you were right by my side. These pictures, I don’t know, if are the reasons or the panacea to the neurotic thoughts that strangle my soul to its death. “You were a criminal, a recidivist,” the one half heart of my heart says when it stares one of the pictures. Immediately the other half of my heart rebukes. The conflicts and quarrels within are driving me insane.
To survive, I have endeavoured to lock the box of memories that I call pictures. All in vain though. The key to the box that I have is broken and lost. I could use the other key that would lock the box too but I remember I had given that to you so that you’d place it in your heart. But, I saw you tossing it in a trash.
I am helpless now. Besides I am still infatuated and in love. I open the box and pick up all the pictures and narrate myself the feelings behind each of them.
The first picture is of the time when I first saw you. I was oblivious that my eyes had already captured you in a moment that would never return. Despite being the oldest picture it’s still intact and perfect unlike the last pictures. They are torn, with faded prints and ripped at their corners. May be the storms and floods that occurred in the past four years are the reason behind.
I came across you for the first time four years ago and within a day I was head over heels in love with you. I had captured your smiling face in my eyes when I told you that I had fallen in love with you. I believed that you belonged to me but your feelings were like the refraction of light in the water .they changed the direction turning the pictures black and white screaming loud and harsh that everything was over.
One picture that had your surprised face (because of the letter you found in the wrapper of the chocolate) turned into another picture that only showed your face of indifference towards me. This was haunting and regrettably the last picture that had you in it.
The rest of the pictures do not have you. Although I frantically look for your reflection in them I just cannot see you. I am not sure if this box full of pictures is paralyzing me or is saving me from demons. It’s the end anyway.