They didn’t say anything about wrapping love and keeping it aside. Or if they did, he must have missed the memo.
It was Coimbatore city on a Friday night and they had their back’s against the wall and the world. Saying things they thought but seldom heard.This was the time they’d stay up all night, talking till daylight hit their faces.We’d never be apart, I’ve got your name tattooed across my heart, and she was inclined to believe him.
Long distance is a bitch, he thought to himself.
And though he wanted to send her the scent of the summer and the pictures of falling almonds, he knew not how. He wanted to send her his words, which he would have shared when she would sit with him on the swing and watch the breeze carry away forgotten dust and abandoned leaves. When he asked the officials, they said the could not ship summer scents, half-nibbled almonds, and leaves and dust. Something more tangible, like a letter or a picture or even a small box would do. However, it just didn’t satisfy him to wrap up his dreams in a poem, a polaroid, or in things that she may leave on the shelf.
However, He went home and tried his hand at bad poetry about the colours he had seen in the market, and how he would have liked to hold her hand while they window-shopped. He tried to promise he wouldn’t ask for anything except holding hands. That would do, He said; but the poem wouldn’t rhyme.Then He put together a box with bus tickets of rides that she wanted them to take, and coal that they could have seen turn to grey as they lay in each others’ arms. As He did so, she left a space in the box for silence that she wanted them to share. But as He tried to wrap it, He knew she was locking up love in a box, and He hadn’t intended for that anyway.