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They say sadness smells blue. Perhaps it is a different shade for different people. But mine has no colour. My sadness is an invisible thing, curling softly along the ridges of my spine, and settling like dust in all the spaces you left behind.
I can't sleep these days. The emptiness on your side of the bed threatens to swallow me whole. So I roam the streets, hoping to catch a glimpse of you in a stranger's smile, or perhaps an innocent tilt of their head.
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I've been favouring this lime green park bench about a mile from our house. I sit there and think about how I could often smell the night on the base of your throat. The paint on this bench has chipped away in many places, as if, like me, countless people have sat here after losing half of their sun.
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Sometimes your name slips out of my mouth and paints itself in the air for one half of a second before it disappears. Like you did. Like all great things in this life eventually do.
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There are galaxies of sadness between us, my love. And no amount of wishing at 11.11 is ever going to be enough for you to come back. I'm the child with her cheek pressed against the windows of the world, hoping to catch a glimpse beyond of someone she lost.
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This is perhaps one of the greatest paradoxes of this world. That every time you lose something, the world sits a little bit heavier on your shoulders.
-Rupali Jeganathan (@missbookthief)
Photo: Fazlulloh Shamit Musavi (@shamitmussavi)
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