Man

What a little boy you were. With your impish smile. You hardly said anything provocative ever. You were so mild, subtle. Gentle even. I doubted if you were in love with me. Perhaps, not.

An infatuation? Yes, sure. It wasn't that long ago. But we were so much younger, you and I. Unhardened by life yet, unburdened. Cheery, dreamy even, hopeless and nevertheless filled with hope. So a crush, yes that's possible.

But love was beyond the horizon of possibilities. It always is. Now we have realised, love lapses, fades, moves on. But we didn't know this back then and were caught unawares. Naturally assuming that infatuations would, one day, convert to love, automatically.

But that never happened. We drifted, apart. Aged, lost as much as we gained. Then, thousands of nights later, I tried to imagine how you would be. Would there be lines under your eyes now? I closed my eyes to recollect your face. Nothing came to my head and my eyes saw blank. I tried again. Many other faces pushed into my recollection, but yours. I tried to discard them all and think of you again. Only you.