A letter to you.

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I walked down the road I used to walk a million times, years ago to meet you. I wondered how time had changed and how we had drifted apart suddenly and then gradually. I recalled how early morning or afternoon I used to pace down the street among crowds of people. Each step increased my anticipation and the swarm of butterflies in my stomach unleashed a new feeling as I grew nearer your place, hoping to see you on the same couch smiling back at me.

It has been ages since someone loved me like you did. Someone held me with the same eagerness and warmth that you held me with and whispered love into my veins that seeped and made home in my bones. Each step I took down the road and each corner reminded me of you, the hunger and love I held for you back in those years. I smiled but I swear my heart ached and the dead butterflies in my gut cried because, even they miss the way you used to make me feel.

Remember, how you always held me close enough. I still remember how you tasted and how your scent infused with mine. You would call me silly, but sometimes when I smell a similar one? I think about you. It is weird how a fragrance brings back so many memories.

I walked the same path again and the weather was the same, gloomy, dark, windy and the sun peeking out a bit. Just the way we liked it. I paced down the streets but now with a heavy heart and slow steps because I wanted to take the walk down the memory lane slow. There was no urgency in my walk and to be honest? I tried my best to relish each step and recall what I had with you. We lost it. I changed. You grew up.

If given another chance? I swear I would walk right back to you like I always did and collapse in your arms like they are my only refuge. I would repeat each mistake, each innocent sin under the curtains drawn and dimly lit room because you were the only one who gave me my first rush of butterflies when I had an empty pit.

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About Bano

I’m trying to find a better introduction but since, I can’t? Hi! I’m Sheher Bano Zafar and I write. I write not because there lies aspiration to be a writer someday but because, it keeps me sane. I love the color silver, black and grey. I also realize that they fall under the same color tone. Whatever, I write is a result of my 3 a.m blues or insomniac depressive tendencies. I can’t write during the day. I’m addicted to caffeine and well, anything and everything (if I like it). Also, I suck at conversations. I bite my nails. Most of the time I’m clueless about the world around me. I love politics and youth activism. People tell me that art and politics don’t belong in the same mind, but I’m passionate about both. One day I might be drawing on a canvas or writing a story and the very next day I will be heading off to attend a summit on the role of youth at the United Nations. I have multiple people trapped in the same body. Each side does try to express itself, in minimal ways if not fully. I’m currently going through a rough patch in life. I guess, I’m adjusting to the world through multiple perceptions. I absolutely love talking to myself because an expert opinion is always required. Most of the time, I just play scenarios in my mind that would never happen. I’m very contradictory in my thought process and actions but it is okay, people get to be what they want to be as long as no other soul is hurt. Peace out!

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