The Postal Code

“Jeremy you know, people leave but places don’t. They exist holding back all the memories, fragrances, silliness, shared meals and smiles over the cloudy skylines traced through the fingertips.

I declared all the strange places, my home because you stepped into that abode with me. The terrace of a skyscraper where we kissed with no care in the world, the roads in the scorching heat where you placed the edge of your hand horizontally on my forehead; to save me from the burn, the beaches where you playfully picked me only to throw in the water for me to get over my hysteria, the afternoons in our favourite though thinly crowded cafe for our brunch dates and crazy daydreams.

You see, Jeremy, all these places still exist yet I became homeless after you left. A vagrant begging to you, to God, to self to bring back those memories because otherwise this destitution would have cut my nerves with a blunt knife sluggishly, at every passing moment.
And in those knelt down, begging episodes at 5 in the morning; one thing I realised was that the only person who was there in my journey of agony and misery was I, myself.

So, thank you, Jeremy for helping me meet myself and finding a permanent, pristine home. Believe me, I have no qualms about the consequences because what we shared was inexplicable and otherworldly. So the result was somewhat unexpected too. And all the things; living or non-living come to an end. This was our end. But I’m now prepared to reserve the postal codes of my home only for myself.”

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