She looked for it everywhere.
A mirage appeared wherever she went.
Each lane, each corner had love stamped on it.
“Where art thou, love”, she wondered.
But love played truant.
Love’s many forms, she was unable to see.
There was only one for her:
her lost love.
Love played games with her,
Cupid was no less.
Both truant!
Tired, she stopped walking,
Sitting under a tree, she spots a mirror.
An image she did not recognize:
worn-out clothes, disheveled hair, dark circles under her eyes,
cracked toenails, chipped fingernails.
Unrecognizable, she was distraught.
Who am I? Where did I come from?
Questions haunted her like a tyrant spirit.
She got up, walked on.
A tiny path to a house, a cobblestone road,
A small brook, birds chirping in the woods,
Familiar smells of a time gone by,
Memories enveloped her in a warm embrace.
An old photograph, a diary, few clothes, cluttered stationery,
Bits of paper, yellowing books, old letters, doodles and scribbles,
Remnants of her past in a box.
Crouched on her haunches,
Aroma from an opened box filled her senses.
She turned the pages of her diary,
Each word spoke to her,
Told tales of the yore.
Grainy photographs had tons to tell,
Familiar old faces, moments captured random,
Tingling sensations of butterflies in her tummy,
Memories of an old crush, first love lingered.
With a teardrop glistening in her eyes, she smiled!
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