Her First and Last Love

She had begun to love every little detail about the world. The piled up folders in her tiny cubicle; the weight of her company laptop that hung over her shoulder like Coleridge’s dead albatross, a reminder of the work to be done in perpetuity; the annoying chatter of commuting passengers no longer affected her senses. She could filter out the dreariness and noise with ease.

Suddenly, every taste, every sight and every sound appeared to be magnified in its beauty; the colors more vivid and ordinary sounds turning into intoxicating music for the ears. Eating and sleeping seemed superfluous when she would rather be in his embrace. His generous pecks on the nape of her neck soothed away her exhaustion from the day and his tender kisses on her lips put her into a trance. He was a gifted kisser, no doubt. Every week, they stole parting kisses under a new street corner of the City. In their youthful spontaneity, all the streets seemed the same. 

One can return a piece of merchandise but there are no such refunds in matters of loving another soul. She knew she would always preserve a piece of his heart in hers. Despite his willful and abrupt departure from her life, she hoped he would do the same with the part she unwillingly gave to him.

There was no rationale provided for the abandonment; the reasoning left to her own freeing imagination. She chose to reason that she was not deserving of such a fate and that he was deserving to make his own for two souls never belong to each other, they just come to meet. Some stay, some return, and some leave to forge bonds with others in destiny. 


He had become so accustomed to darkness that the sun was unbecoming to his eyes, paralyzing his movement in the day. He would see many like himself on the street and playgrounds, albeit with shiny coats, combed hair, and radiant eyes, happily strolling along with their loved ones.

They would walk past him with pitiful eyes, until they found a new object and their quota of empathy was completed for the day. Their stares made him feel invisible at first, but it was quickly negated on account of the beating he faced as he attempted to steal some food from them at night.


Years later, she had finally come to forgive him but if you chanced to ask her, she could still recall the exact spots of they city where they held hands and dreamed of how their kids would resemble each other; the exact spots on her body where he caressed her with his empty kisses and promises. There was no drug or device to erase such memories and she knew she would have to live with them forever. She harbored no intention to see him again and loathed every detail of the world that reminded her of him.


He had no one to go to, no where to come from. His identity card was blank, freeing for those bound to shape their own, but for him, it was nothing but a terrible acknowledgment that he was disposable by those who brought him into this world. If he had any peace, it was in knowing that he was losing his health and deliverance was mere breaths away. His only objective lay in wasting more breaths as his body wasted away about the same.


She had become shrewd and masked the pain of her abandonment with coldness. When she caught a reflection of herself in a shop window, it was painfully evident that her loving innocence was lost.

That innocence was lying on the ground.

She picked him off the street, bathed him, and fed him a sumptuous meal with her own hands. At first, he resisted the love, thinking such good fortune could not be bestowed upon him without some receiving some form of abuse. But gradually, he gave way. Her loving embrace made him feel at home. Each evening, she would take him out for a walk and he would bestow her with sloppy kisses at the same intersections she once met her first love. He would always remain her last.

In their mutual abandonment, they developed a rare connection.

Once again, she began to love every little detail about the world.


Writer’s note: This is a story of a woman adopting an abandoned puppy.

Being loved is a privilege that few can enjoy from unconditional hearts. Any other form of love is a synthetic derivative of some lowly emotion that is meant to possess in ego. Personally, I have experienced more unconditional love from animals than humans. 

animal rights

This entry was posted in Imagination, Reading, Short Stories and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Her First and Last Love

  1. Reema says:

    I love this ❤ my heart is all warmsy. Roo read it with me toos 🙂

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