When soft voices die

Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory,
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.

Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
Are heaped for the beloved's bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.




((Percy Bysshe Shelley))


Nandish Dave

2000-2009

Rest in Peace

You will be dearly missed.

Death has such a crippling finality to it.


I wish I could be with my friend, Nandish's brother.

I wish I could hold his hand and be with him through this.

Maybe I will muster enough courage to go and be with him for a while. I didn't see him when I went to see Nandish for one last time before they removed his body for cremation. My mum said he did though, I just crossed him and we were less than 3 feet apart. She says he knows I cared enough to come and thats all that matters. 

I don't agree with her.

I think I'll call later.

I just came back from visiting Tirth. I have never seen anyone look so helpless and sad. I was there for a minute, but I think he knows I wished I could be there with him right through everything, till it all finally starts getting easier. I wish I had those words then, but my legs shook too hard and I was out of breath without physiological reason. 

He knows I care.

Why doesn't it feel enough though? 

Why have I always kept denying the fact that his feelings for me are real and why have I kept him hanging for so long? I feel terrible. 

I would give anything to turn back time and be more honest with him.