I think people take away parts of you when they leave.
Like a souvenirs from a trip.
You let them.
You hope it reminds them of you.
It’s so beautiful- this whole cycle of people meeting and separating.
It is like an overwhelming drama playing in front of our eyes- with us as characters.
I like to think of our lives as a very well scripted narrative where none of the characters know where they are heading, and all of it seems so haphazard at times, yet we all end up at the right places at the right time with our stories converging with people we never knew.
The main characters leave when they promised not to.
The little side actor who had a two minute cameo when you wept on the footpath suddenly returns, only to make your heart jump and leap, and call his return an act of destiny. But he is just a side actor. You forget that and he leaves too.
You meet a stranger once again but you are too tired.
You are too tired of protagonists leaving and side actors ruining the perfect script that you wish to quit this drama.
We are forgetful beings.
This is a never ending story.
She tells me that there are so many stories intertwined together with each of us having a story to ourselves.
I think it is one of the best things I have heard someone say recently.
She tells me that she has quit cinema.
“Maybe you are just waiting for the right actor.” I say.
She looks at me smiling.
“There are no right actors. We are in the wrong drama.” She tells me.
“Sometimes you need to wait for the climax.” I say.
“You know when my last lover left, he took away sadness.” She doesn’t look at me when she says this.
“People don’t take things from us. We serve it to them. We beg them to take it. We hope they remember their journey with us.” I look into her eyes.“I have been giving people so much of myself that I feel empty now.”
Her words are hollow.I get up. I hold her hand. I get down on my knees.I ask her, “I have a plate filled with sadness and I am full. Will you share a little with me?”She smiles.
Curtains drop.
This is a never ending story.
Like a souvenirs from a trip.
You let them.
You hope it reminds them of you.
It’s so beautiful- this whole cycle of people meeting and separating.
It is like an overwhelming drama playing in front of our eyes- with us as characters.
I like to think of our lives as a very well scripted narrative where none of the characters know where they are heading, and all of it seems so haphazard at times, yet we all end up at the right places at the right time with our stories converging with people we never knew.
The main characters leave when they promised not to.
The little side actor who had a two minute cameo when you wept on the footpath suddenly returns, only to make your heart jump and leap, and call his return an act of destiny. But he is just a side actor. You forget that and he leaves too.
You meet a stranger once again but you are too tired.
You are too tired of protagonists leaving and side actors ruining the perfect script that you wish to quit this drama.
We are forgetful beings.
This is a never ending story.
She tells me that there are so many stories intertwined together with each of us having a story to ourselves.
I think it is one of the best things I have heard someone say recently.
She tells me that she has quit cinema.
“Maybe you are just waiting for the right actor.” I say.
She looks at me smiling.
“There are no right actors. We are in the wrong drama.” She tells me.
“Sometimes you need to wait for the climax.” I say.
“You know when my last lover left, he took away sadness.” She doesn’t look at me when she says this.
“People don’t take things from us. We serve it to them. We beg them to take it. We hope they remember their journey with us.” I look into her eyes.“I have been giving people so much of myself that I feel empty now.”
Her words are hollow.I get up. I hold her hand. I get down on my knees.I ask her, “I have a plate filled with sadness and I am full. Will you share a little with me?”She smiles.
Curtains drop.
This is a never ending story.
