Unpublished

He sighed as the faded ink in his notebook, diluted the feelings of the words he had once penned down. 

It read,

When we are 80, and neither of us can read anymore, I will lend you my extra special bifocal lenses to zoom in to my feelings. You would need them. You would have lost the sight, as much as I would have.

It still takes nothing for me to understand what you want. I always know it. Like I did back then. You always needed reassurances, and missives. I hated writing, and you turned me into a novelist.

Words poured like rains during monsoons. Why, you'd wonder? I wrote so that one day, while walking past that book store, you'd pick up a hardbound with my name on it. And wonder..

'Am I the protagonist? Did he write about me?'

Knowing that you'd chance upon my book and read it- Back to back... and realize, it wasn't about you. 

You'd ponder furthermore, 'perhaps there will be sequel to this. He said he was madly in love with me. He ought to write one book at least about me'.

Thinking that, you'd indulge in another book, with my name on it and consume all that I had to give. And try to find yourself -In me.

Why do you have to find yourself in me? Don't you know, how you left a part behind when you refused to talk. Talk anymore about what had gone wrong?
You want to see how I perceive you today? You want to search yourself in the things I do?

What do you ask of a writer, who has forgotten his existence?  Who writes to discover himself, after losing his senses in the person he claimed to love more than anyone else?

When you are everything that is there, what are you looking for? Are  you trying to find light in the sun, or a shadow in the dark?

You are looking for that drop in the ocean which I set fire to, last summer. There is no soul anymore. It's gone!

Then, why do you read? Especially my books?

I promised, I would lend you my bifocals... 
You should've waited.
Or...
Come back...Now..
Because I know I am going to live till I am 80 or even more... for many many years.. 
I have already tasted death..  

She walked around the city looking for bookstores hoping to find a book she hadn't read- With his name.

The book she was looking for, was never published!