It was raining that day. No, not raining, it was drizzling that evening. I do not remember whether it was raining or drizzling. All I can remember is the big round drops of water falling from the top. And my glasses lost their clarity within a few seconds. I pulled them off and entered into my myopic world. There was nothing I could see on the road I was walking. No, there was not ‘I’, there were ‘we’. We were walking on the road, not even on the footpath, holding each another’s hand. I did not like to walk on the footpath. No, you did not like the footpaths. So we did not like that.
I had an umbrella on my left hand, closed. You were there. You did not let me to open that up. I had an umbrella on my left hand, keeping my right hand free. You weren’t there. But I did not open that up either.
That road was long and wide. You were there. I could see nothing except you. So I kept looking at you, the only thing visible to me. The curvy hair and rain-splashed eyebrows. You once said that you liked it when I look at you without my spectacles. I could see the real you, the genuine you, not some image which is ‘filtered’ through the lenses. The road had a very few cars, I could not identify the numbers by the blurred lights. I looked at you with my naked eyes, but there was no you. I could feel the emptiness in my right hand. That day I understood there is another sense dedicated to feel the emptiness.
I cannot distinguish the rainy evenings you were with me from my lonely ones. A part of my brain is dedicated for you. And that part is right beside the part that works with my own self. Those parts are entangled together like the earphones they gave with my phone. I am no good at untwisting the tangled earphones. You were. And you never let me do that. It’s all you. No, it’s all we. False, it’s all me.