Melancholy — Here’s How I’ve Been Since You Left Me

I remember the day we first met. Unexpectedly, we sat side by side on a park bench, which bustled with people of all ages – sitting, walking, running, playing around. I hadn’t had an easy week at work or at home. My mind was filled with so many thoughts that I had lost count and I had lost track. Fumbling with my scattered thoughts, I came across a young family of three, sitting on the grass across me. They were in love. They were carefree. They were in the moment. It made them more beautiful than they were. I remember, I smiled at the sight wistfully when you tapped my shoulder, held my hand and hugged me tight. I remember you refused to leave. I remember the day we first met.

At first, I was uncomfortable by your presence, by your touch. The way you enveloped yourself around my skin was creepy. How would a sane person react to being touched so inappropriately by a stranger, anyway? I tried to shake you off violently. I tried to push you away. Only to realize one dark night, that I had no other company, apart from you and that therapeutic glass of wine. That’s when I started to accept you, to understand you.

That’s when I knew you were going to stay.

Slowly, I began to know more about you. I noticed that you were patient, curious but never pushy, persistent but never stern. I noticed that you were shy, just like me. I noticed that you opened up to people only when they wanted you to. I noticed that you valued all your relationships equally. I noticed that while I was at work, or when I had other people around, you stayed so quiet that your presence couldn’t be felt. You sat silently in a corner, hands crossed across your chest, keeping an eye on me, but never speaking a word to bother me. But just as I was alone, you were there again, taking me into your arms to put me to bed. Just as my mother used to comfort me every night when I was a kid. Only, you didn’t try to make me fall asleep. We could have talked entire night and you would not have batted a lid.

Sometimes, we didn’t even need words. Keeping company in perfect silence and yet not to get drowned by it, is supposed to be a bliss only perfect relationships can enjoy. We had it all together.

But all seemingly perfect relationships have their own little cracks. So did ours. To be frank, it wasn’t your fault. You were perfect. You were calm. Completely unruffled. Your quietude caused my resentment. I got bored. I got frustrated. I mistreated you. I cursed you. I wanted something more, something quite like you, but I did not want you. I demanded too much. I have heard that people like you give everything they have to a relationship. But when they have had enough, they leave and never come back. To this day, I don’t know what was the last straw for you.

I remember the day you left. I was at my worst behaviour towards you. I remember, you tucked me into my bed and caressed my head. Instead of finding comfort in your touch, I turned my back, pulled my quilt to cover my face and slept. I remember the next morning, you were gone. There wasn’t a trace. I remember the day you left.

I still regret that we didn’t get a proper good bye.

The first few days were really difficult. Despite my bottled up emotions against you, I had grown accustomed to you. I expected you to return every single day. I looked for you in every room. I even went back to the park bench, expecting you to find there. But you were gone. Vanished.

Luckily, a couple of months later, at the same park bench, I found someone else. Someone who was like you, but who wasn’t YOU. Solitude. We have been together for quite a while now. I look forward to go back to home to find her. I wish I could introduce you to her. I hope one day; you would find someone like her.

However, I still miss you sometimes. I wish we could have a real farewell.