The Void of Love

And in the middle of the empty road, he kept standing, just waiting for her to turn once.

She didn't.

She kept walking away, with every drop of tears from his eyes and every breath he took.

He wanted to run and stop her.

He wanted to grab her and kiss her.

But he kept on standing.

He could see her taking the turn and slowing going out of his sight, but he could not move an inch.

He felt a sudden shiver within him. Either it's a pain chilling down his spine or the cold winter wind. He didn't know.

He kept standing, reminiscing memories and drawing into the labyrinth of solitude.

He managed to move towards his home, one leg after another.

Longing for a prop, a hand or may be an object to hold.

He walked, hands and face cold as ice and heart frozen to death.

Somehow he turned the key through the keyhole and opened the door. Switched on the lights and locked the door again.

He could feel her fragrance in the air of the room. The lipstick stain was still on his bedsheet, at the corner of the room.

Her favourite novels missing from the rack and the wardrobe looked empty. It hung only a couple of his shirts, nothing else.

As he turned around he saw the ashtray, gifted by her on his last birthday. Ends of some cigarettes and ashes on it gave immense pain in his heart.

The ashtray was bought by her after a lot of controversy with him.

She complained every time that it's difficult to buy a gift for a man. But somehow managed to select this ashtray out of them.

The ashtray is made of thick glass. Oval in shape, quite heavy but the designs engraved on it made it an unique gift.

He looked blankly around the room, trying to figure out that the entire thing happened.

When he entered the kitchen, he saw the coffee cup from which she had drunk last night.

He peeped into the cup and saw the last few drops at the bottom.

He opened the tap and washed it, letting go of the memories along with the flowing water.

He dried it and put it inside a wrapper.

He made a cup of coffee, with no sugar.

A big cup of black coffee, to kill the memories and solitude growing in him.

He was a writer and for him, she was a poetry.

His favourite poetry, he would love to read, in those silent nights, under the bed-sheet.

He used to look at her, while she slept in peace.

He used to play their favourite songs in loop, and both of then danced around in their home.

With every passing day they loved each other a bit more. But never enough.

Now, may be the songs will remind him of their best days, may be the lyrics, may be the music, will ring in his ear whole day, he'll still hum it until he falls asleep; in a vague memory of relieving the memories and forgetting her.

He used to read out his poetries and muses to her. She used to smile and listen to it, with her eyes closed, and when he used to end the poem, she kept her eyes still closed ,and he used to smile looking at his poetry, and that was 'Her'.

Sometimes after a long day, he used to lie down on her lap for some solace.

She read out the best quotes, from her favourite novel.

They were home to each other. Love found so true, how it can be turn down to ashes one day?

But today, she left him.

The beautiful day turned out to be so painful. He never imagined.

She simply said that she's done and tired of being with with him. And she put the door behind her.

He went running outside.

The cold wind gave him chills. Something started breaking within him.

He kept running, but stopped.

What if she turns once and comes running towards him and buries her face on his chest and kisses him on this empty street?

With their lips kissing each other, and their arms trying to reach out their souls, will they again lit the light if their love?

He kept imagining moments in the void, she has created for him.

But, she didn't turn.

She walked away.