We first met when my heart was broken. The second time in that year. And his was turned into stones. I was walking on the street when we stumbled upon each other. He smiled. I felt as if I found a friend.
I was going to this event for inspiration. It had been almost 2 months since I had lost it. I couldn’t write or even think. I had sleepless nights where I spent my time thinking “May be I’ll never gain happiness again.” He decided to join me. But because we didn’t find the place, we ended up walking for hours. He told me his stories, different phases in life. I listened attentively for the very first time in my life.
We immediately became friends. Sharing life-stories and daily musings. There were times when I would get lost among the crowd I was surrounded with. I would forget every thing I had and get lost in this new-found world of pretense. And he would take me back to where I came from. Where I belonged. To Words. He would get lost in his past and I would try my best to bring him back to present.
One day, I let him inside my world. Let him get inside my most precious possession. My journal. This was the place where I shared every part of my feelings and emotions. Wrote them down to forget about them.
His skin darkened and brow frowned deeper as he turned each page.
“See, you are not a good writer. Look at his skin getting all wrinkled up after reading your shitty writings.” I told myself, trying to calm down.
“Your writing is amazing you know.” He finally spoke, “but the themes are all so negative. Every thing you have written here is about fear, anger, hatred, and stuffs like that. And I guess you have really grown lazy. Look at this, it’s all only half-page” He showed me the journal, turning pages.
“Well, there is not much to write about.” I whispered.
“You can write about happiness and joy.”
“I no longer know what happiness is. Or joy.” I looked at the dirty ground.
“Then start by writing about me.” He demanded.
I then looked at him startled. He was smiling all of sudden, like a 5-year-old child. “I will try. But don’t expect much.”
“Just write. I will be happy with it. And I’ll be taking this journal. Seeing the former pages, you will get discouraged that’s why.”
“Are you kidnapping my journal? Ha-ha!” I laughed.
“If that’s what you think it is.” He joined my laughter.
We first met when my heart was broken. Twice. And his was turned into stones. Now, after a year from that first meet, my heart’s all good. The wounds have healed and the scars have faded. His, hopefully has warmed up. No more frozen.