It’s strange how we never grow old to not like certain things in life. Your smell My flimsy scarf which covered you was now breathing that beautiful smell. I still like it, exactly as I used to like years ago when a gentle puff from nowhere carried your scent to me right across the aisle of the lecture theatre where we used to sit separated from each other by a few steps. It is still the same. Distinct, crisp, inviting and so you !
Couples walked along the garden path. You looked but didn’t notice. Expressions on your face never changed a lot. Like ever, it was an unhurried gradual transition from one thought across your mind to another the subtlety of which can never be evaluated by eyes other than trained ones like mine.The sun in no urgency to set lazes down illuminating the park with beautiful dreamy hues and ushered the time of the day you have always loved .Vehicles rumbling along the street occasionally broke the otherwise evening calm. The last rays
of the sun grazed along rendering the park a heavenly purple glow. You run your hand though your hair smooth the creases on my shirt and then snugly settle down your head back on my chest and close your eyes. There had been countless occasions like this , each of which I remember precisely though, on which we sat besides each other not talking much. Over the years the talking has been less and so has the need for it diminished. We had comprehended in our own specific ways that pristine moments of togetherness were not meant to be wasted by talking about things. It had been this way for long now Just sitting besides each other reading each other’s silence. Occasionally though you dab on my shoulder or clutch on to my arm a bit tighter as if to say something that occurred to you and when I turn to you expectantly you just smile and sometimes nod your head gently. I have wondered what that meant but now I think I know.
