How I Met Him

Two cups of coffee are almost down , a scribbled notepad and here I am writing my fifth article with all kinds of scattered , stupid and reckless thoughts inside me . As I flip through the pages of my notepad , I find your handwriting on it which brings back all kinds of memories.

I did not meet you during autumn , or on all those days when I partied hard  and there were no one to listen to my stories, You were not there when this broken soul needed a hug or when I was drunk and photographed by my friends. You were not there when this soul needed a friend to talk to or probably when she laughed too hard to be noticed in the crowd. No, you were not there , but I met you like I meet  lot of people . But then I am actually writing about you with some unfinished chapters and  half sipped coffee in one hand.

You ask me why I  write about you ? But why won’t I  write about  you. You taught me thousand things at once . You taught me that inside the strong girl I had carried the child in me through years . You taught me about how to love and how to carry my little heart within. You did to me what Gerry did to Holly , what Coldplay songs did to lyrics. You are that favorite part of the chapter which I would read again and again . You showed me the way and even if I was scared to walk in the path, guess I always knew I had you. So, don’t ask me , why I  write about you my dear because our story is something which is not ordinary, I always knew that.

Our story is something which cannot be named.

At one point you can be the monster I want to tear off the other time you are the sweetheart I would never want to let go . Our story needs a direction , a way through which two souls gets reunited. It is not written earlier or photographed by any. It is a story, which is actually one of  a kind.

By Poonam Chatterjee