Our memories are like those 10 digits in a phone number, randomly placed yet seem to be so familiar, and when all the pain didn’t seen to go , I dailed those 10 numbers and it took all the pain away, just like the way I remember.I remembered them like the address of my house like the back of my hand , every number holds a piece of you somewhere in it, the sound of your pressed and dark voice , like an expresso , when you woke up.Your voice had fireflies and the warmth of sumlight when you got excited about the things at school, like a 5y/o kid sliding in the park , tht voice or that number isn’t just saved in a 5 inch screen, but it’s echoing inside me , digit by digit, but that’s how I planned it to go away, to fade, digit by digit, and then it’s just incomplete ,an incomplete number which holds no significance whatsover, the person you used to know is dead , dead inside you , his laugh is unfamiliar , his touch is lost somewhere , his birthmarks is still there ,but he isn’t the one with whom, I ate his favourite ice cream , he’s right in front of you but he’s not the one who would give anything for a tender coconut ice cream ,he’s dead and the numbers hold no significance .
They’re some random digits, I hope all these fade away like the detailed versions of you in my memory, laughing , all these kinder versions of you.
And when they do , it will be me and a great space for all the numbers I didn’t seem to memorize.