Memory...

Hello....

This is a scene in which common words such as "is", "was", "here", "there", "that", "which", "where", etc have not been used.

Please inform me of any lapses....

The essence of winter rain tickled his senses, as he stood at the window, memories clouding his thoughts and washing his spirit away into a dreamland… The mist seemed to posses his grey eyes, and sleepless nights cast a faint shadow over his heavy lids. Having wounded its strong wings, time seemed to have forgotten how fast it could fly. Presently, it shivered between the branches of an avocado tree, looking longingly at the horizon.

Turning away from the rain, the man let his eyes rest upon the child on the bed… his child… his baby… The baby looked back unblinkingly into his father’s eyes, captivated by the miracle of eye contact, ignorant of his own shivering caused by the biting cold. Can a father ignore the needs of his child? Taking long strides towards the wardrobe, he pulled out a tiny sweater and rushed back to clothe his son with it, forgetting the door of the wardrobe on his way back.

After ensuring the child’s warmth, the man kissed his forehead and returned to the wardrobe. While closing the door, a white dress caught his eye and stopped him on his tracks. He pulled it out and stared at it, admiring its spotlessness. It contrasted the plain black clothes he himself donned. Instinctively, he buried his face in the dress; desperately trying to catch the smell it filled his nostrils with… the unforgotten, sweet smell of her skin… He continued to sniff at the dress, turning away for every exhalation in an effort to prevent the dress from losing its scent. Finally, he gave it a deep, long sniff and laboriously pulled his face away from it.

Wiping his tears, he went to his son, barely two weeks of age, and sat beside him. “You want to know her smell, don’t you?” Saying so, he gently tucked the dress near his head so as to let the smell reach his nose. However, when it did, the child began to wail in a loud protest. Quick as the lightning outside, the father pulled the dress away and picked up his child, rocking him to and fro in an effort to console him… “I’m sorry – really sorry… it’s alright… I shan’t force you into thinking of her if it makes you feel sad… calm down, my sweet…” The child stopped wailing, comforted by the familiar smell of his father and by the warmth of his hug.