Occasionally I pen down imaginary conversations between imaginary people. I began here. Here's the latest installment.

"Well, once upon a time I did. I do not, now."

"Yes, it would surprise me then. I would find it very irritating. To me all the unwarranted exaggeration amounted to pretence. It was tough holding a real conversation with you."

"You were rather hasty to be so unforgiving."

"Well, what was it, then?"

"I was unable to acknowledge change. I am sure we all find it tougher weathering certain changes more than others. To me, the words were not so much about what I felt then, but about what I had felt earlier. I could create my imaginary world and swim in its waters. It was like a bubble insulating me from everything else. I depended on it. It was my refuge. For me the words were my attempt to relive my youth. The mind doesn't follow logic religiously. It was the mind's way of coping, of defending itself from the onslaughts of time."

"But how could you continue lying to yourself all those years? I found it quite appalling then."

"I think it is the curse of the more passionate amongst us. Ironically, it does quite the opposite. The emptiness that followed was the toughest."

"I think you have reconciled yourself with the inevitability to change and the ability to remain passionate despite, or perhaps because of it now."

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