Little reds and greens...

This place. It has too much history.

Whenever I walk down the tiled pathway, a large bottle brush plant overhead just gives out That smell. That smell which reminds me about the number of times I have walked down this very same path, with houses and gardens surrounding it. This path cemented with tiles, cemented by memories...

This is the path where a young boy noticed a young girl for her beauty and couldn't hide his admiration. It is where he slowly followed her every evening, sometimes with friends but mostly alone.

It paves way for innocent hide-outs where she had someone kiss her for the first time and she didn't understand what it meant. The same hide-outs where she finally understood what it means. This is where she played hop-scotch with her girls in a pretty pleated skirt and he gazed at her from his bedroom window. She knew he was watching and he knew that she knew. The rise in pulse, the chill down her spine every time she caught him watching.

This is where she learnt how to ride a bicycle. This is where he laughed on her when she fell. This is where he picked her and dropped her home when she started crying.

These cemented tiles have seen so much. They have borne the weight of so many. And each tile tells a tale. A Romance. This is where she slipped in the rain as he watched her from his balcony. This is where she walked in the sun while waiting for him to see her. This is where her young little heart learnt it's rhythm.

And today she just walked under the bottle brush again. All over again with the man she loves. Hand in hand. And no memory of the boy who is now lost in the brazen wind, lost to her brazen heart. No heart aches and no pain. Just pure innocence. And she wants to tell him, her beloved, of who she was when she ran along the trees and let her hair free. She wants him to know how she once learned to fall in love on this very path. She wants him to see that young girl blushing.

He might not know that girl, and yet so many times when he takes her in his arms she can smell the bottle brush and feel the rain and hear the wind. And then she sings.