The day I learned not to bother about whatever was happening with you was the day I realized, that my heart is brave to strike off that one thing which I had kept on the highest pedestal since so long. That day I accepted that what’s not meant to happen, no matter how hard I try, no matter how far I run, will not happen. And practically speaking, there is no loss in losing what was never yours, there is no defeat in stepping outside, empty-handed, there is no guilt in giving up on something which never held on to you.
That day I understood that my heart isn’t a graveyard of your memories, where I had buried each one of them chronologically. My heart is certainly not a garden of remembrance where you visit once in a blue moon to offer your condolences to my fallen hopes.
The day your words managed to pierce through the walls of my delicate heart, which were once filled with love, only for you; that day itself you managed to earn my ignorance. From that day itself, your existence never really mattered to me, anymore. So, congrats you have permanently destroyed a perpetual source of love. You have been successful in pushing away a pair of palms that, whenever folded, prayed for you. You successfully lost each and every wish that was meant only for you.
But, forget not that everything, good or bad, eventually comes to an end. So will this, one day. For now, I am letting it burn, our unfinished book, I don’t remember what page number were we at, I don’t remember what chapter had I started before you tore it apart. Neither do I want to remember. I just hope you have a happy and a successful life.
A lot many times it happens that you simply want to forget someone. But that doesn’t happen. You might have moved on, it is an entirely different concept, but it doesn’t mean you have forgotten the person. You do not forget them. They stay in the back of your head all the time. The memories may blur with time but you can not forget them who taught you how to love.
Such people live with you forever. They are a part of your existence, a part of you. With time the wounds may heal, you may not see tears in your eyes when you see their pictures or hear their name. But in the back of your mind, you know they still exist and will do forever. You gradually accept the fact that you cannot forget them and you won’t and you begin living with it. That is a name which has been printed on your soul, stitched in your veins and is running in your blood.
Is it true that time is the best healer? If it is so, how long does it take to heal our wounds; two months, one year, two years, five years? Is time alone enough for our grief to subside? I don’t think so and here is the reason why.
When I lost my mother, it was difficult to keep myself “under control,” and so I kept myself frantically busy. I would devote all my time to work and exhaust myself until late at night and spend hours doing whatever I could to distract myself from acknowledging what I already knew in order to run away from my grief. But I could never understand that one of the biggest myths about pain and grief is that Time is the best healer which is never true. Time does not heal anything, the pain remains there always, you eventually somehow get used to it and start living with the pain.
Personally, I don’t think time heals at all. Time may make things seem less important than they once were. With enough time, we experience more and more of life’s ups and downs, and that serves to give us more perspective. I think it would be better to say that Time makes us numb, or that Time lets us forget.
The pain is always there, buried deep inside which undergoes a metamorphosis into bitterness or stays just like some hardness and makes us a little more cynical.