Memento

My memory is failing me. Details are getting lost and hazy snapshots remain, like incoherent words of a dying man. I try to reform entire pictures on some days and sit helpless after a while, like an artist missing his essential shades while painting a masterpiece.

A stretch of lush green where you and I watched silhouettes of tall buildings at sunset
Hot coffee that we both hated on the day we were drenched in the rain
Little insects that we baptized in your living room

We should have clicked photos.

Because now that everything has been said and done, when sky has turned a boring shade of periwinkle blue and when living has come to less reasoning and more habit, I could do with something to remind me that

I lived.