A paradigm shift of emotions… Is It Correct?

She was beautiful, the most ravishing girl I had seen or met in my youthful days.

She mesmerized everyone, with her delectable body language and fluency with the most elite emotions. It was a treat to watch her perform daily chores in class and outside. Her baby skin, the doe eyes with pubertal sparkle, and her physical persona were captivating enough to blow out anyone, whosoever, came in contact with her.

I was bold. Oh Yeah! Clean bowled!

She was a frequent visitor to my unending dreams. I did everything that my wildest imaginations of those tender youthful years could concoct. I was thoroughly infatuated with her.

Somehow, I could not gather the courage to communicate my naive feelings to her.
But, life is cruel. Gosh, it is atrociously harsh and ruthless at times.

WE LOST TOUCH. She was gone somewhere, I don’t know.

Years passed, and my quest to meet or even see her did not fade out, even while I was ageing — leading a busy life.

Our meetings were limited to the dreams that I used to occasionally have.

I tried my best, putting all my efforts into tracing her, but failed.

Then one lucky day, I found out that she was attending a function in the city.

I put on my best attire to meet the girl of my dreams.

Gosh!, I was going to see her after awhile

She was there, standing with her middle-aged, osteoporotic and weirdo husband. (I was jealous, well, had to be,) so what?

I missed a beat; a paradigm shift of emotions.

I didn’t recognize her in the first place. The present frame did not fit in with my youthful portrait. There were cracks and cobwebs in the building. The plaster had come out. The old cement was showing through the smartly smeared and painted look. The front porch had sagged and the wood in the windows showed moth-eaten ravines.

I was depressed–The Mona Lisa of my dreams was badly consumed by age–she needed a strong restoration.

I could barely go further than the normal social gestures and communication(I didn’t feel like it).

Sorry, I couldn’t help it.

Back home, I looked into the mirror.

Oh, dear! My house is not in good shape either. Age is showing all over my face. My greying, sagging eyelids, hair oozing out from the ear pinna, and the crow lines etc.

Do I have a right to judge her? — No! –The Age spares nobody.
Unfortunately, from that day on, she never came into my dreams. I actually lost her this time.

Why did I meet her?

Years ago a friend advised me to:

“Leave the past in the sweet memories of the past,” he said. “Bringing the past to the present loses the sheen and breaks the edifice of imagination to smithereens.”

I agree! Had I not met her, that youthful image would have still sparkled and she would have survived somewhere, in my dreams.

I have lost her.

“Well, maybe.” She carried similar impressions of me.

Who knows?