Fleeting Memories of Sunshine

There was a stiff, sustained breeze. Martin drew his breath sharply and pulled his hat further around his old, elfish ears. It's been years since he came to these parts, and was therefore, quite out of practice, being used to the wet nagger that London is, at least at this time of the year. He looked around with his tired green eyes and noticed that fish-tailed rocky structure in this part of the hill. This is when he remembered sittting with Susan, polishing off an old bottle of leafy-layered Cairn o' Mohr. Happiest memories of sunshine, amour, feeling skins, sharing beds, toothbrushes, ambition.

But what do you do with them? These pockets of bliss that live in your brain? You just carry them around, making them travel with your worn out legs, until you cannot feel them anymore. You try hard, to clutch on to them like the delicious aftertaste of the darkest chocolate ganache on your palate. But it fades. With time.

Martin thought of calling Damayanti. Across miles. Twenty years casually thrown in-between their friendship. But she would always understand. She would always ask him to drop by, and they would huddle around the kitchen table in her shoebox of a cottage, drinking PG tips from worn out cups. Accompanied by Custard Creams from last year. Maybe with Nick Drake's Northern Sky playing in the background.