Where Long Winds Blow

Sundays, rain, hugs, railroads and winds is all I remember when I think about the days that followed. We tried to create avenues to escape our hopelessness, but always met in dark alleys.

We met about four or five times, I remember the last time more than the first time. Ours wasn’t love at first sight , but a dive into uncertainties, desires, loss of innocence – freedom.

We met at a science symposium, fourth year secondary school students , both contesting for the physics award. But somehow the chemistry took over and dumped us into the hands of fate.

Its funny how one forgets the things they thought they will remember forever. I don’t remember her face, but I can still smell the perfume she wore on a rainy Friday hugging me goodbye.

She lived on the mountains, I lived near the lake. Ours was soap opera stuff on the surface, but what lay inside was an endless prairie stretching and stretching and stretching – Ocean waters.

Now I remember she had?ocean?eyes. Blue, sad, cute, shy rheumy eyes. The kind you look into and you drown, you are sinking so fast and you like it and you are hooked. They were tempting.

We never broke up. There was no love.

We used to meet where long winds blow. I love places where long winds blow. That is where I take my girls. Where long winds blow, tall grasses grow and?fireflies riddim dance at dusk.

Time creates distance with the past, in that what is present seems like the end of the world. But when the yolk breaks, two lovebirds fly away in separate directions to other dimensions unknown.

Even on those chilly Sunday evenings when we cuddled behind the abandoned railway station, we were still growing apart, and when at last the locomotive came, laboring up , one of us wished they were inside it.

The last time I saw her, I was with a cousin and homie. Whenever we meet, he makes jokes that makes me very angry. He saw the tragedy but still finds comedy in it and I laugh, sometimes.

I laugh sometimes because there is nothing to cry about the past. It is gone forever. The two lovelorn birds fly separately – one to the city, the other in distant lands where long winds blow.

Monsoon winds, ocean blue eyes , rainy days and we stand on each side of railway tracks. When the train passes we loose sight of each other. Maybe one waits for the train to clear.

When the rain clears, there is no sight of the other.

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