Wednesday, January 2, 2008

A blast from the past

The wonders of modern technology! There I was, minding my own business, being a good girl and all that, whenI suddenly got an email from a person that belonged to a little corner in the dark alleys of memory lane. It was a really short note, just enough to keep me intrigued and unable to quiet the curiosity clawing my insides. He also left these phone numbers, and when I googled the numbers, they were UK numbers. Well.

So, anyway, I was crazy about him at one point of time. Then, I kinda pined for a while when things didn’t seem to be heading anywhere. Then, as most injuries, which have a way of being healed with time, my heartache also healed. And then we both moved on and lost touch. And now this.

I finally got to talk to him. He’s married and a very proud father of a week-old baby. Wow. I’m happy for him. But wow. It’s kinda wierd…you know what I mean?

Well, what I am reminded of is an old ABBA song:

“Our Last Summer”

The summer air was soft and warm
The feeling right, the Paris night
Did it’s best to please us
And strolling down the Elysee
We had a drink in each cafe
And you
You talked of politics, philosophy and I
Smiled like Mona Lisa
We had our chance
It was a fine and true romance

I can still recall our last summer
I still see it all
Walks along the Seine, laughing in the rain
Our last summer
Memories that remain

We made our way along the river
And we sat down in the grass
By the Eiffel tower
I was so happy we had met
It was the age of no regret
Oh yes
Those crazy years, that was the time
Of the flower-power
But underneath we had a fear of flying
Of getting old, a fear of slowly dying
We took the chance
Like we were dancing our last dance

I can still recall our last summer
I still see it all
In the tourist jam, round the Notre Dame
Our last summer
Walking hand in hand

Paris restaurants
Our last summer
Morning croissants
Living for the day, worries far away
Our last summer
We could laugh and play

And now you’re working in a bank
The family man, the football fan
And your name is Harry
How dull it seems
Yet you’re the hero of my dreams

And I can see him reading this post, grinning like a cheshire cat, because I told him I would be writing about it. It’s not about hanging on to memories that play tricks on our minds, creating illusions that are too fantastic to be real. It’s all about letting go. Closure. And making new beginnings. Yes, I’m happy for them. And below is the poem I wrote, once upon a time, for him, a poem that he coaxed out of me and which I never thought would see the light of day again.

Rest, in peace.

1 comment:

  1. Past..dear past do cath us in many ways. For u a blast in a gud way..sometimes past can haunt and catch u, affecting the present..Sweet past and sweet memories..