When they see him they will realize that he has not changed much, pretty much same eyes, same nose and same curly hairs. How much time has passed, hmm; no one knows. They wonder, how much time. A lot is what they can think of, precisely how much, no one knows. They had given up the concept of tracking time long ago, ages ago will probably be the right word. That was their way of defeating time. Time was anyway a concept, defeating a concept seems so abstract now. Time was an absurd concept anyways.
His eyes were blue, actually turquoise. They say he was son of the green jungle that lay buried in the depth of the blues. On a certain night, he would just wander alone near the shore and his eyes, those turquoise eyes, will shed tears, green tears. They will all cry then, for no reasons known. Nobody ever asked him the reasons; and he, he never bothered about them. But that was all a long while ago. One fine day, or was it the afternoon; no one recalls the exactitude of that moment, but they recall that one fine moment (time, they sometime wonder if they really defeated it), ages ago, he was gone, just like that, without any premonition, perhaps without reasons as well, he just left.
They had not sent any search parties, they didn’t even worried, those were not the sentiments they shared/felt anyways. The only thing they missed, were the green tears which made them cry, for reasons they never knew. And although they missed crying, it was not that they knew that they missed it. They would go to the shore on the nights when the moon would be yellow and dimly lit and they will keep looking at the ocean, its blueness, its vastness. In the morning, when last of the stars took a holy dip in the blue ocean, they will return, feeling uneasy, incomplete and unsure of what is it that they were searching for, looking for.
All this was long ago; very, very long ago, for now it was a ritual, to wait for the moon to be yellow, stars to take a dip in the blueness and return engulfed with uneasiness, incoherency. Nobody had realized that all this while, their own eyes haven’t watered, that they have not cried, wailed and mourned. Those were emotions of past, emotions that lied buried away from the present (Time, they had thought they had defeated it), emotions they were unaware of, untouched from. Amongst those nights of yellow moon, were the days of golden hue and crimson shadows that filled them with life. It was a set routine, a day soaked with crimson, followed by a moon of varying shades and colors. There were intermittent days of violet as well, but that was when they wanted it to be that way, and those days were too less and limited. On days like that, there will be clouds in the sky, veiling the moon and its blueness. Actually these clouds will engulf the moon in the night itself and no matter how hard the moon tries, it will not be able to make itself free after being entangled amongst these clouds (unless they wanted to set it free). And then, the crimson shadows arrived, bathing the blueness of the moon; the moon will cry and threw tantrums but the clouds wont let him go; till the day becomes violet.
Those days were few and far between, but those were the occasions when they recalled faintly that there was once someone amongst them whose eyes were turquoise. They didn’t remember those green tears, but they had faint remembrances of him, he who had left long ago.
