In her memory, the girl I love.

When she was here, things had been different. My room, though she had never been here, had many memoirs of her. My watch which lay on the bedside table, black dial, square face was a gift from her on my last birthday. Half the paper-backs in the shelf were hers. She had introduced to me the world of books, and now that she is no more, they are all I have.

It is funny when you know a person only for a short time but he or she is embedded in your head like they have always been there. That makes it even difficult when they leave us.

It was one of those rare times that I had woken up before the alarm rang, I lay wide awake staring at the ceiling. My skies of possibilities were now covered by a dirty roof, possibly forever. 

I got up and headed for the shower, trying not to think about her. I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, I scared myself. My eyes were blood-shot, my hair a real mess. She always used to tell me to wash my hair. I remembered her touch when she used to put her fingers in my hair, to hold my head and kiss. I remembered the touch of her lips, I remembered her smell. I felt like crying, but then thought that it would be a very sissy thing to do.  The famous chick magnet, cries in his shower at 4 in the morning. No, I did not cry.

My eyes were blood shot, hers had always been brown, brown as chocolate. And chocolate was what she loved, always wanted one. Whenever we met, she always expected me to have one for her, and though I hate chocolates, I always had one around for her.

I stepped below the shower and turned it on, gushes of water splashed on my tangled hair. She had always had curly hair, naturally curly and I loved them. I loved the way when she used to move her head and her curls bounced around. I could still not forget the smell of her hair, it can not be described so I wont try, all I can say is that there was no smell like that, no aroma like that.

The End

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