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The Familiar Season

It's like seasons changing under the sun and the stars - from scorching summer to the delightful spring. It works in a cycle. Just like a dark night hovering over the tiny fireflies and then escaping to the befall of the dawn. It's morning sunshine now, it's melancholic winter afternoon then. We love, we sing, we make faces, we argue, we fight, we start being silent, we make up, we sing, we love again. And this continues throughout days and nights till the sun tells us to stop complaining and the stars, to start dreaming. It's like a complete prose - a wonderful work of fiction that goes on without a beginning and with no intend to come to an end. Can there be anything more fascinating than this? For I have not come across any. That smile, that stare, that silence - everything makes me speak and smile back, to the one I coincidentally met on one confused evening, started talking from stranger to familiar tone, visited one summer morning on an unfamiliarly deserted road, traveled around the noodled hillways with.

Now when I look back and sit for a while to think of him in isolation, I realize that it was never a coincidence. We were meant to happen the way we happened to each other. That there was nothing called an isolation. That he was always there with me, for me, by me. That the seasons will remain same for the times to come. And that, the most familiar season for us together will be the seasons of love.
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