Memory

Our first and last meeting was here in this brothel. I don’t know whether you remember me or this place that you frequently visited, but I remember you, your every bit, everything about you. Before you, there were men, who touched my body, felt it and left. Then one day you came. You added a zing to my life. Before you, I wondered that, if my body is the address of my soul then how do people just leave this house without knowing the person leaving inside. You never objectified me. I told you everything that I have ever thought or felt, my naked soul poured itself out before you, a certain warmth in your skin compelled me to do so. I waited for you, through the day, your presence was like a bright light in this dark place.

Then one day you stopped coming here. I heard that you have got married. Now, my thoughts are greatly divided, though I search for your face through the crowd that gathers outside this brothel but I don’t want to see you. The trust, the fidelity that every girl desires, I wish, you give it to your wife. I still seek that similar warmth of your skin and yearn for those hands that would touch my soul and hit a string deep down. However I dare not find you again in this place, so that your faithfulness remains with the girl you truly love.

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