Every night I dance in the sun, I am on the way home while the rays gently tan my skin. I feel the heat on my shirt, and on the skin within. I precipitate. That steep and windy trail to my home was tread by my father and his forefathers. The Sun and its warmth had always welcomed them like it did to me. I have unintended recordings of my journeys up and down those hills and I have a faint memory that they were warm and replete with a sense of belonging with all those pebbles, bushes, thickets and even to that broken path.
Seems, it was but had happened only in my imagination. I feel cold within unlike the memories, within me, dictate. I don’t feel the warmth that I faintly remember of. I don’t feel the sense of belonging to all those derivative attached to the memory. Feelings from those fleeting moments seem to have flown away.
I try so hard to dig out those feelings within those memories. I feel they were true. All those joyful moments that forced smile on my face even while I was tired to bone, could not be deception. I might be suffering from short term memory loss, but still I am not ready to accept all those feelings were just a hallucination created by my own unconscious. Because I depend on feelings not memory. My feelings are not victim of short term loss. That warmth and sense of belonging can not hypnotize me to such extent to believe that I had felt warm for nothing. I still keep feeling that it was all real.
But waking up on the bed, the sun fades away in the dirty city clouds. The thickets fade away in my rest room sink. The windy trail ends up on the puddled black-topped filthy roads. The blooming smile of the wild blossoms fade away in the grumble of the middle-aged man next to my house that had a bad night with his ever-demanding and miserable wife. They all try to divert me to the present and give up my quest to figure out actuality of those fleeting moments. But they come back rushing to me when I am back on my bed and close my eyes.