Of Sea. Of Memories. Of Love.

I can see the sea, the waves crashing against the shore. I can hear it, I can breathe it. There’s faint music playing in the background. The moon is half hidden behind the clouds. There’s a slight breeze, which picks up at times. It’s teasing my hair, playing with it. It’s been sometime since I have felt my hair fly, behind me, all over my face, in every direction. The caress of the wind is oddly intimate. The moon’s out. It’s weirdly shaped today, neither half nor full. The blemish on it is clearly visible. It is beautiful. I can see a lone figure walking along the shore,

staring out at the sea. A woman, I presume. I can see her hair flying. It’s late in the night. Why is she there, all alone? Is she happy? Is she sad? Is she yearning for somebody? A loved one, maybe? Or a bygone era? Happier times? Or maybe she is letting go of something? Someone? The wind has picked up. She is walking back. I feel like an intruder, suddenly. Like I can feel her innermost thoughts unfold even though I don’t know what or who she is thinking about. Someone’s whistling. A cop just getting off duty? A lifeguard signalling to some wayward straggler? A lover calling out to his beloved? The moon is behind the clouds. I can see the lone woman again. She is hurrying back now, almost running. She looks back at the sea, almost fearfully, as if whatever she has left there, buried in the waves, will come back to her. The same song is playing on the loop in the background. It’s about yearning for a loved one, about fearing for the loss of a loved one. Love and loss. Such potent emotions. Emotions difficult to live with and difficult to live without. What is love, in anycase? Why do the songs make sense? Why is it accompanied by a gripping fear of loss? Ever present, ever looming. Why is it that the stronger love is, the more fragile one is? There are no stars visible today. Just the moon, sometimes shining brightly, staring down at the sea, caressing the waves and at other times dormant behind the clouds, a dull reflection of its exuberant self. There’s a tree right in front of me. Broad leaves. The leaves are moving with the breeze, too much in its grip to stop, too far gone to turn back. 

There’s a lone figure sitting in a lighted balcony. Her chin is resting on her left hand as she writes something in a piece of paper in front of her.

There’s a certain strange sense of urgency in her, even though she is sitting perfectly still. Her hair has a life of its own, whipping across her face in tandem with a sudden gust of wind. She has been playing the same song over and over again. She looks up, suddenly. Her eyes are searching for something. It’s dark. Her eyes bore into the empty space in front of her, piercing, yearning, young and old. Her lips twist into a wry smile. She is staring at her phone. Her fingers curl into themselves and then uncurl. She types out something in her phone and smiles again. She tips her head back and looks at the sea. There’s a strange calmness to her expression now, even with the remnants of some unknown fear warring for space with a lingering wistfulness. She weaves her hand through her hair, and, stops midway. Her eyes bear a faraway look as she stares at the dark frothing sea. It’s as if she is reliving a memory, long past. A wayward tear slips past her eye as a look of extreme tenderness smoothens her expression. She turns and heads back to the room. The balcony reverts back to darkness. 

[P.S. If the recurring references to the song playing in the background have piqued your curiosity, here goes! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2uX0_9ST3cw#  :) ]