From the Log of Her Memories

It was a bleak midwinter’s Sunday evening. My feet gathered the pace and finally, I was there. I knocked the wood twice, had a hard time removing my hand from the pockets. I noticed they turned red as I knocked for the third time.
She came out, I gave her the book she asked for. She wore red that day. I zipped my bag and started my walk back. “Hey” she shouted, I turned back. “I found this note in the book. I thought it might be of some importance to you.” She handed me over that old note. I took it and waved her bye. I started again and finally noticed it. It was an old note with coffee stains on it and with a message in red ink – forever.
My urgency came to an absurd halt, something struck me hard, the chill didn’t bother me for the moment. The sting of his memories conquered the cold and I went back in time, frozen dead on the road.
I recalled the coffee date. He bought me red balloons that day. I wrote forever in midst of the coffee stains. I do remember what happened after six months. I remember his reddened face when I said it’s not going to work for us. Maybe I was so wrong. Maybe I still am. He nodded to my words, though they were meaningless. I wish he didn’t. I left him there. He stood there, arching his arms on the red rusted gate of the park. The park which has seen it all. All of our stories. I broke his heart that day, I remember, altered his future.
The wind hit me again. I gained my conscious and I ran.
I ran and I bled on his shattered dreams. I reddened the earth that day. I looked up in the sky, continuing my run. It was all red. Maybe it was blue or gray or may be kohl for that reason. But my eyes could see nothing but red.
Red was his favorite color.

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