Colors changing hues . . .

The Bougainvillea is all over the place in colors so brilliant that it hurts the eye.

I can still see her, like it happened yesterday. She is standing still, motionless, only her eyes moving as they follow me down the road. I keep turning around; looking at her, my bike negotiating the treacherous road of its own accord, till the clumps of bougainvillea shelters her from my view.

I did not know then, that I would never see her again. Nor did I know then that we would tread different paths; never to meet again. Not because it was destined, but because there were dusky eyes beckoning me. There was a soft willing body which I could not resist.

I guess there was deceit in my heart, lies on my lips, fire in my loins as I rode away. I guess I broke her heart. I must have destroyed her hopes and dreams. In all certainty I scarred her till the end of time. But did I know it? I don’t know, I honestly don’t know. I was young, the heart was strong, there was music in the air, the need for variety was strong and young, nubile, flesh available in plenty.

Then there were the soft, plaintive phone calls, whispered words in the night, letters written from the heart, blurred in hidden tears, talking about days around the languid lake, days filled with magic and music and days of frantic, inexperienced groping and ecstatic releases. But my heart was immune to the tears, to the pleas. I was testing new waters, hitherto unheard of musicians and everything merry in life was showcasing to me in a myriad of colors. I swept ahead, in a flurry of nameless faces and sweating bodies and soon forgot this apparition from the past.

Ten years has passed. Tinges of grey have started creeping around my temples and my children have started school. I wonder what she does these days. Does she think about me anymore? Am I worth thinking about?

And bougainvillea, in its varied hues is blooming all over the place.