Diary: A short story
(An illustration by me)
When the leaves of a tree fall,
they find out they were never made to stay,
that some things come together, only to be separate .
These words were written on the first page, precisely with an ink pen, the heavy ink leaked into the small nearby pores which made the text a bit blurry. I was intrigued, taken aback as
I turned the page only to find more of these scribbles,
The day I first saw you
I had a sensation in my heart that filled blood
Into every crevice that my body could hold.
I wish that could be translated into a number or percentile
That could tell you how much of love
I hold.
I closed the diary while keeping my index finger like a book mark. I ran my hands over the leather cover of the diary, which seemed to be deceptive about its age. Many times I have encountered used story books with small notes made here and there. But a used diary roaming around in the open while being sold as brand new is something which I have never heard of or come across before.
I immediately thought of returning it, it felt weirdly unethical to barge into someone’s life.
I lightly swung the diary on the table as I started to go through the other books that I had gotten from the store. I opened a sought-after story book and read a couple of pages. But there was something in the diary, which kept my attention under its control. I felt like a weak magnet sitting near a strong one, I could keep my head away, but I also felt the force of the pull. After a bit of debate with my conscience, I was able to convince myself to read a few more pages. Like a steaming cup of tea, which lies on the table to be savored.
So I placed the bookmark in the story book as I continued with the one I desired to read.
Do you remember the metro ride?
The one where we sat together,
You unintentionally rested your head on my shoulder
While I intentionally rested mine on yours.
The smell of your skin has stayed on my neck,
Only to infuse my thoughts with your essence.
The metro still remains,
And so do you,
But the seat beside me is empty today,
Or filled by a person who isn’t you.
The words struck a chord in my heart, and with every word that my brain could interpret
I wanted to find out more about the person who wrote them. I traced every word with my fingers, as if I could feel the life in those lines, beating with emotion. It reminded me of the little pieces of memories that I held with the people I loved.
As if I found myself in someone else’s album, a piece of me that I had kept away for so long.
Like a flip book, I turned through the empty pages to find another note,
After so many years
You still own a space in my heart.
I never asked you to leave,
Never asked you to play the violin for me
Neither did I ask you to love.
But now you’ve locked yourself in the room,
The room which holds the biggest quarter in my little heart,
That space feels heavy, that space gives me pain.
My blood cannot reach that occupied space.
I’ll never ask you to leave
I’ll never ask you to love,
But atleast open the door,
to let me in
Inside my own
little world.
The doorbell rang, but I wasn’t in control, I involuntarily turned the page,
The little pieces of me
Have been lost forever,
Like the old puzzle which lies in every house,
That picture can never be complete,
That soul can never be the same,
They say there is perfection in imperfection,
But no one likes holes in the canvas they painted,
Like abandoned rooms in the heart,
Rooms which used to be lit from day to night,
Places where memories rested for a while.
Once the heart felt heavy and now it feels light,
Maybe one day I’ll abandon my heart,
I’ll abandon it just like you-
The doorbell rang again, it must have rung multiple times. I regained control over myself and wiped my eyes with the left shoulder. I took out the bookmark from the story book and nestled it in the diary. I stood up to open my door before the person left,
as the words echoed in my head.
When the leaves of a tree fall,
they find out they were never made to stay,
that some things come together, only to be separate .
-Soham Ganguly
