IN MEMO

What causes a woman to quit without pondering over the results? What would cause her to pull
the trigger and cause her own death? Grudgingly,I guess I know what kind of moment leads near and
around that moment,wishing I didn’t.When the pain of taking the next breath becomes so
bone-shattering,all your mind knows is : stop, stop, STOP.The pain.

And there is nothing else.No more thought of the guy who'd swear by every word you utter, of the smudgepaint and the candyfloss for which there'd always be whining about.No more thought of the simper of pleasure, the curling up of the lower lip,which seemed to share a certain gesture with you, a certain glint in the 'blue' eyes, the repeated arcing of the hand in the air above you to describe a word most precise. Perhaps they fade.

There is only the pain. That must stop.
To live. How'd I know any of that pain, you'd argue. We, the “we” that once lived perfect, seems to be so very long ago now..I steal a glimpse at a picture of yours searching your features for that previous self, keen to not let that previous bit leave me. Then, you were fearless and innocent, immune but oblivious- blissfully ignorant. Your eyes bore into mine urging me to believe that you are the same. Only influenced by the world.. Are you there? Wondering?But of course I see you- messy hair, in all likeness untied, cheeks flushed-fresh from a fight wid P2 possibly worrying yourself crazy over that misplaced plectrum; and in desperate need of some fondling yeah? Did you know that all this charmed me? You do. The way you 'd swear at me, the way you bit your lips everytime you thought you'd crossed the line, the smile when you knew that you'd gotten away with..

Those days when we sat by the lakeside, cooled by the slight breeze, shoulders pressed together, you strumming gently, me humming along-your tresses tickling my face, heart thumping in my chest, assured by the warmth of your touch. We'd have these strangest of mythical fantasies and contemplate our neverland and how we'd paint it all blue and golden. And then all of a sudden you'd have this brilliant strain of inspiration
and play while I listened, holding my breath. Listened, until you were finished and leaned over me,
demanding to know if it was the best piece I'd ever heard and in the same breath adding that there was
a prize if it was and a death sentence if it wasn't. It wasn't but it sure felt like..
That millisecond before you decided to pull the trigger, I wish I could have whispered into your ear: I'd never had a better prize. None so satisfying. I see you standing below the trees, waiting for me to catch up. Looking at me as if I were everything.I was safe in your eyes. I was always secure with you.In that millisecond, I wish I could have whispered in your ear: I will never be that secure again. You've had to part fearing the worst maybe. But you're so young, so naive. I hope we'd not have to pay for this later, when all we can do is regret...

I see the fabulous aurora lighting up the horizon-the field of daffodils parting like a gentle fire before us, slapping against the little flaming red Volkzwagon, the two of us roaring with laughter, jumping in our seats, a hand of mine holding yours in the air between us, the other on the steering wheel, and the owner of that field shouting on the edge of it, his arms waving in the rear view mirror- our ultimate fantasy! Shouting, shouting, I know not what, but we were as incapable of stopping as were you …
… in that millisecond, did your memories rush through you? The grief of letting go sunk into a moment of relief when you do? Do you know, my dearest, that I remember every moment in the lead up? Not once a raised voice, not once a flash of anger. You've decided to fade away in silence. I don't know if I am to hold you in contempt or respect you for that. But I believe you..I think the depth of your grief is the same as mine...And that you made your own decision, end of the day-whatever the reason may be, you have. So I need to live my own life, one in which I, too, will have to learn to fade away in my own silent grief, one marked by mystery and lined with obstacles I presume. But overcome, we shall.

Now and then, thinking of you, those breezy afternoons, how you'd press your head against my chest, snuggling; pretending to count my heartbeats to find out whether they matched yours. I try and visualize. hearts not beating. Wait …

A fresh soap bubble is iridescent, many-colored, vivid. Then it fades. If you watch it closely as the membrane thins, patches of dark transparency appear in the moment before the bubble pops.

That’s how the world was. God blew it into existence fully colored and bright with every possible hue. But as time went on, well it didn’t exactly fade but i guess the colors were used up.

It was something like a physical law, say entropy. Every expenditure of energy used up color. Some creatures actually fed on color energy to live.haha.. The world gradually swung relentlessly towards black and white.

Don’t think it was a grey, drab, place, though. Brilliant whites and hard-edged shadows filled the world as the softening colors drained away. Outlines were uncompromising. People appeared as crisp silhouettes. There was nothing vague about the colorless world.

As the world aged, the people began to converge and consolidate. By now, they were all either black or white. But not like black people you’ve seen, who are really brown;  not like white people you’ve seen either, who are really pinkish/reddish brown. These people were as black as ink and as white as paper. They looked very much alike, and this made it easier for separate individuals to merge into one.

The men merged into Kings. The women merged into Queens.

The world's been reduced to a black and white checkerboard. And on it, the last few neutrals wait in rows, sullen-faced for the chess game to start.