The 7 year itch

They say it takes 7 years for the body’s cells to regenerate, 7 years for you to be a whole new person somatically. Not sure who said that- was it the scholars or the thegoodquote people of instagram. ‘Duh, another fraudulent belief’ says Dr. Lovereserve, a hopeless romantic failing to centre herself into reading a paragraph because like every faithful lover, her mind em well, wanders.

Just like the philosophers, Marilyn Monroe’s movie too did no justice to old lovers like her either, thought Lovereserve.

As the famous belief of the 7year itch goes, most romantic relationships witness a decline after this psychological backing time of 7 years. 7 years and the human plasticities rot and show true colours of fidelity, tedium and maybe the worst of all, BOREDOM !

Has she forgotten a crucial detail that it's been exactly 7 long years that a certain someone left her ?

Embalming the memories of the crossroads where she has misdealt the famous ‘shouldn't haves’.

“Just dont touch where it aches” she tells every lover she meets these days.

• “Oh , where does it ache then” asked the writer, soldier and the artist.

“Everywhere” she’d tell them.

Didn't they also say that your taste buds change every few weeks and we begin to like/dislike new foods. But why, no hers are still stuck on the peppermint mists that ‘someone’ left each time they dropped those volcanic kisses.

A strange guide once told Madame Lovereserve how river water has memory. She’s thinking, what if skin has memory too? What if like Rivers the skin remembers every current that splendored through it too?

Because hers does.

Her shadow who studied medical sciences for 6 years told her to brush away this thought but then she remembered about the scientists who believe in god. Her refined ring is broken. So this is your faith- the poet in her pressed.

Her mind now wanders to the guessing games when they used to make air tattoos with the light tips of their fingers on each other’s backs. She would draw a star and he’d guess it. she’d say no, it's Patrick the starfish.

Or the horror movie nights when he grabbed her arm too hard, unknowingly and she giggled seeing him frightened. He said horror was okay, it was gory that took the life out of him. And that Madame Lovereserve has lost her soul for watching horror so conveniently.

The same Lovers quarrel which she quails on today.

She remembers the gooseflesh when his skin seared tunnel valleys on her wrists? Why was it afraid every time he was close, maybe because what if this was the last time she was feeling this? Was this all in her head? Where else would it be?

The rationales would say Maybe that's why when writing about him, her arm twitched in the same place as it did before, for she still feels him in the strike ridges between her carpals.

8-9- even 15 years will pass, and these bitter like frigidities will go mild, fading madame Lovereserve’s memories, maybe that day she didn't have to choose days to grieve.