that balcony

I've been thinking of writing 

But where do I begin?

I'm afraid, with mum, old friends and the future,

I've lost my words too

Is it obligation? Is it evidence, is it witnessing or is  it validation ?

What do I seek with these words anymore? 

I've been quietly walking in my mind now

Trying to figure it all out

Walking by the streets 

How they exist here and there 

How you used to exist in them, here and there

Today I stood in front of the apartment, 

That was once ours 

The only balcony I ever loved,

I saw a woman standing in the one below, watching as you once did, long ago

Spying on the men hovering around your daughter, spying on your daughter's hearts

We saw summers pass by, sat on the cold terrazzo on winter nights watching the dusty sky 

We saw floods go by, children waving at us in tragedy 

We ran to the terrace when I'd spot the first kite on makar sankranti, or the first rain hitting the ledge and our good ole cactus plant

Remember how you'd show everyone when it bloomed? 

As the woman stood there, her partner came out, pushing the four doors open, calling her in. 

As they talked and their family's shadows danced in silhouettes

I saw us too

I wondered, if I was there right now, would I tell myself what fate our family would have? 

Would I tell myself you'd die so young? And stay dead for the rest of my life? 

I didn't know the answer, I just stood there in the dark dim street lights, with echoes of rickshaw drivers and passerbys laughing heartily

I just stood there and watched us, our old house, our old life

Our full life.

The trees swayed in soft breeze, the leaves casting shadows against the orange hued concrete

Time passed, time was here and going

But I stayed put in the past, holding a bag of  bananas and dahi that you should've bought for me

I still see you sometimes, I still hear you sometimes. Most days I can't tell if it really is you or if I'm just yearning?

I've declared my birthday as banned this year, 

You died four days later afterall

It feels as though my 22nd with you, making you eat fancy lasagne at a pizza express was the last happy memory I'll ever make.

To be honest, I guess

I'm just afraid to replace it

I don't want anyone to have that chance

I need you to hold that memory, 

Hold those 22 years, 

Because it's difficult to see many more