The Illusion.

Somewhere far away, there lies a path. The path leads to the top of a hill, where the wind blows, and the sun shines all the time.

That was the place where we sat; exchanging our laughter and joys. We sat there quietly sometimes, without speaking; words weren’t necessary then, our presence was enough. Thoughts could be exchanged by a mere flicker of eyelids.

Then the seasons came and went. Summer left us, and autumn welcomed us with its burnished fires. And then came the winter, when everything froze – as if frozen in time. Only the memories remained and the silences spoke to each other, a thought at a time.

The path still remains, leading to that hill. The sun doesn’t shine there anymore, though. Now the memories grow dim, perhaps reality never occurred. Perhaps it was a mere illusion, perhaps it was all a cruel joke that life tends to play on us, to make us realize the importance of companionship and friendship.

There the laughter rose, friendship was a reality; now it’s a mere memory that dims each day, and is lit again and again by the tired hopes, and is threatened to be engulfed in the mists of sorrow.