Excerpt.

We all have our ups and downs,

we build, we break

and sometimes all we need to do is went out.

It’s been months that I haven’t even seen her, I don’t even remember what her voice was like without the radio wave disturbances, I don’t remember what she smelled like when I last met her. All I remember are those eyes on that sad face looking at me at the departures on the Mumbai airport and telling me not to go. I should have heard them, and not the words she said.

I wish, I wish,

With this line,

I land in her arms,

And everything would be fine.

I should drop out, leave everything, but I don’t know why I couldn’t? I guess that’s because I hope it someday turn to be the way it was when I had just started. When she was there in there, at the back stage, behind the scenes, sitting on the chair beside me.

I love it when I was doing all this for her, with her. Now, it feels like I’m obliged to do this. I wish we could still have those hugs before I walk up for something, those stolen kisses during the off field battles, and those endless conversations before I dressed up for the war, or when I came back home.

I wish I could just see her again smiling when I miss a beat, telling me it's going to be okay, holding my hand when I sung a song, bobbing her head to the rhythm and where I could see those eyes against the spotlight again, I wish I could see those eyes against the sun, I wish I could see those eyes now, I wish I could see her.

I loved it, I love her. She is my music and she if couldn’t be with me, how is my music ever going to be with me? It’s better if I quit, rather than being like this. I need to stop.

If I play wrong notes, it’s still music,

If I play without her, it isn’t.

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