She still gets lost in an unknown world, burns her lips and drops down the cup. But she doesn’t miss him anymore. All these years she had missed him, she had been in pain. But one fine morning she got up and realized it doesn’t hurt anymore. She didn’t feel anymore. She had moved on. She has moved on in a way that she remembers him, but doesn’t miss him. She remembers him everytime it rains, she wonders if it’s raining where he is. She wonders if he still smokes in the rain. Sometimes she thinks about him late at night while looking at the stars. She remembers him in a way that makes her smile. She still talks about him like he is the most prized treasure she ever had. But she knew she had moved on. Her heart doesn’t ache anymore. Maybe that is what moving on is all about, you never really forget the person, you simply stop getting affected by them. She thought she didn’t miss him, true she didn’t. You never miss someone who is always there within you. He was very much alive in every story she wrote. It has always been about him. But she knew she was just another of those cigarettes that he burnt daily. And he was a forest fire.
“I shall stop missing you little by little.”
His room still resembled a smoke house. The clock had stopped working years back and he never got it repaired. He never tried to mend things, what was broken was supposed to remain broken. He remembered how she used to break down the cups. The broken cups could never be mended. He still smokes when it rains. The number of cigarettes he smoked daily had increased over the years. He wonders if she still lets her hair loose and chases the passing clouds. He wonders if she thinks about him. He doesn’t miss her either. Everytime he thinks about her his ego stops him. He was okay with it. He didn’t like missing her or thinking about her. It confused him; it forced him to feel what he has been running away from. And his ego protected him from that feeling that made him weak. That feeling that reflected in all his paintings. All his paintings were about her. She was alive in his colours. But he knew he was just another cup that would be broken by her. She was a forest fire.
“I shall stop loving you little by little.”
They moved on but never got over each other...