I took some time, but slowly started enjoying myself. New freedom meant more and newer options to choose from. Initially, everything reminded me of the past love, but slowly with time, I stopped thinking so much. All feelings dilute with time, so did mine. I moved on, or so I thought. My friends tried to help me but they knew I wasn’t ready. Without a need of words, they understood my pain and helped me by letting it stay. I didn’t generally think of that time after a while. Newer feelings made their presence felt and the nostalgia hit only when I was specifically reminded of that topic. Slowly, I was feeling alright, in spite of the initial pain of separation.
A few years later, when an article in the newspaper reminded me of that place, I simply smiled. It did not remind me of the parting and the circumstances. All I thought was about the good old times when life was simpler and I was happier. That's when I figured, loving meant not possessing, but cherishing.
I made an appointment and visited there later when I was in the city. The house I grew up, with a lot of happy memories, I was there again. A part of me is defined by my life in that house. My first love, I remember all the memories from there. No matter where I shifted, how many houses I bought later, the first home I had, it remains the most special of all.
The nostalgia would hurt for a while, but I loved the reunion. When I got back to bed that night, all I could wish was to have the future experiences just as wonderful as the first one.