We are strange creatures. Everything has an expiry date. ...

We are strange creatures. Everything has an expiry date. We know this, and yet we continue to ignore it. We go on assuming that things will stay the same, safe in this logical fallacy. You and I, we always knew. We knew that we were the equation that defied rules, time, and dates.

Remember when I told you I have a problem with time? I still do. I am always fighting time, wrestling with understanding it, trying to catch up, or I am just a second too late. Perhaps in a past life I promised you I’d return before some war ended, but I never made it home. It seems I’ll never make it this time around either.

There is a scar on my skin- I am not sure where it came from. But it stares at me every day, reminding me of what I wish I could forget. The body, also, has an expiry date, and the body, also, fights time. With time, people forget, they say. With time, wounds heal, they become scars. But scars aren’t always pretty. Scars seem to get darker with time, standing out against your skin, and they make a statement: I was here. I witnessed this.

Just like sometimes, I wonder, was I really there? Were you? Did I really witness you staring at the mirror, getting ready to leave, fresh in the morning, and did you really witness a part of my life’s journey? There seems to be no evidence of this. You have left no scars at all, nothing that says you were here. And time, as always, threatens to take away even my memories.