We never truly get over people

We compartmentalise them

We store them

Neatly tucked away in the dark recesses of our minds

Airtight shut

We sit tight and pray that we never have to open them two, three years down the line where they will float out in their ghostly grace haunting the hell out of us

Or the hell into us.



If you are lucky

to live long enough

some of the things you disliked

so much as a kid

will become your favourite things



the things you have always loved

will lose their intensity

or, in some cases

the joy they once brought

and that

is a life well lived.



I wonder, do we photograph pleasant moments in an attempt at preservation, for we are incapable of remembering the good as we do the bad?

Strung on walls are beautiful memories, festooned with other hasty forgottens,

but seared in minds are torturous images torching everything gleaned.



Friends who escaped to a sunnier place, where the sky is golden, and birds still roam, where your skin splays worshipping the above.

I implore you to fill my timeline with such images. Absolve yourself of shame and guilt, leave no room for such burden, for those unable to travel do so vicariously.



Today, I decided to seek a new barber as I wasn’t happy with my current one. After all, I had both silently reproached and evaluated him; I’d given him plenty of opportunities to dissuade me from veering off.

As I walked out of the new barbershop from which I just had my hair cut, my old barber’s name appeared on my phone, calling. I intuitively sigh and then answer.

“Hey, are you ok?” “Yes,” I reply “what’s up?”
“I saw you coming out of the other guy’s barbershop. Did I do anything wrong?” I cringe “ Umm… No, nothing wrong at all; I just wanted to try something new.”

Part lie; part true.

I feel horrible.
I guess this is a sliver of the shame which engulfs a cheating spouse once caught?