Fiction...

That vital part of me that completes me, All of me, None of me, Full of me yet void of me. You.

Naive. Foolish. Stupid. Us. We think we can forget and live on. Breath on. Go on. Inane idiots. We.

We thought we could rewrite history. In a better way. And alter happily ever afters. In some other world. In some other ways. Imperfect, young, silly us.

The days turn to months and the years pass on. The memories remain right there. To return time and again. And hit and knock us down. When one least expect it. Like beautiful sea which brings Tsunami.

That feeling of being perfectly right and then realizing, not so much.

That smile and laughter which no more comes with the same ease. Yet, we do because we know no other way. To exist. To live. To be.

The stories. Vague. Happy. Tragic. Perfect. Incomplete. The marvel, how can I love them when they are not real. The characters I fall in love with when I read. The excitement to narrate it and the way I want to change or end the story. My world. Our world. A bit strange now. Like I never knew it before the way I see it now. Alone.

The thunderstorm. The rains. The dreams. The nightmares. Prayers that are answered instantly and the only one which wasn't. For worse. For better. We will never know. Or we will feign indifference even if we do. 

The incomplete half of us. Less of you more of me. Worst of you best of me. Trapped together. To remain. No matter where we go or what we do. Beautiful yet unaccomplished.

The bright twinkling eyes replaced by new lights. Overpowering shadows.of endless tomorrows and not-so-forgetful yesterdays. Still pulling the heartstrings like the longing for home. Always.

The futile efforts to not remember that the world we read about existed. Ever. Though in our mind. Though for a while.

And  in some parallel universe we exist. Where we are the world we created and lived in. Forever. 

Because who the hell knows how long the forever lasts!