Where are the ones who were ours?

Like the setting sun’s sky, the lingering memories come in taints of burnt oranges and forgotten yellows. I try to hold on to the feeling of missing and it just slightly, teasingly brushes on my face tangling my hair and heart. 

By the windowsill, I sit still playing the melodies of yesterday while wondering about tomorrow, the same old dress with the same reds. We are well versed with things like the sound of goodbyes and some others we always prefer to hide; the baggage along the goodbye. Sometimes it’s not a diamond ring you’re looking for but just maybe a conversation until the sun rises and a love that lasts. I found so much yet I was too little to hold on. Amidst the misty, blue and blurry world I kept rushing to pick and pluck and have my pockets full of trivial rather than significant and faithful relations. I kept running, gasping for faith, for truth and there I found none. Everyday a part of me eroded in search of something I never knew about. Then one fine day, when the sky had turned dark and I saw no way out, just as when I settled for grey came along a streak of red. Bright and looked so right! Suddenly I found a place to pour myself in a way I needed to, a way I never before got a chance to.
Everyday before this was heavy, my pockets pulled my down, tore me apart and I sank slowly.
Though maybe it’s true, some prayers don’t go unheard; the brokenness shows a way sometimes to a place which is real, strengthening and loving. It’s lit with baubles of happiness, dim but illuminating. Happy places don’t come with balloons and confetti but they gradually soak themselves in your skin and your everyday. Every day isn’t war anymore.

Sometimes what was ours remains in old photographs and letters, and after some time we find parts of us in someone new with no regrets.
Don’t just give up yet.