The light in the room was dim before he entered and drew the curtains. The weather outside seemed pleasant.
He sat adjacent to me, picked up his diary lying on the table, and pulled out the pen tucked in my hair bun. The curtains were blowing by the wind outside. Clouds were moving, some near to each other, some far away.
I closed the book I was holding, and looked at his thoughts wandering around the corners of a page. A few raindrops fell on the window pane, to gently meander.
The rain had started to pour down few seconds later. Raindrops fell on the muddy ground, on leaves of the plant kept near the window, and a few tiny drops fell on the page of his diary.
My eyes could no longer trace raindrops falling on the window pane. They fell on the surface and got merged. While a few on the leaves got pinned, the rest glided themselves down.
The sound of quiet was broken by his “damn.” The raindrops that fell on the page were slowly merging into the warmth of his words.
Abandoning ourselves or someone who matters to us isn’t the solution when we encounter a situation where we detest a certain kind of behavior or a habit that betters no one. Trying to make efforts in discarding a habit, a behavior or anything that you know isn’t doing any good, and can be dealt with is the best way possible, instead of distancing yourself from someone or trading yourself off with dullness and happiness.
You go from one place to another to free yourself from wearisome schedules and reasons to not hear the calling , stepping out from the confinements, which exist only until you realize that there weren’t any. Breaking the walls stifled by the fumes of burning clocks and deafening tick-tick of the time, you stuff your bag with hopes of finding a part of you in a place that awaits you and leaving behind another as a souvenir, when you only know it like a tune you heard from a distance.
The sun, even though of the same sky looks different, and so does everything else. The usual becomes unusual. A gentle stroke of the wind takes away the heaviness you had carried for long. A step on the soil turns into a memory in the heart. Unspoken words write themselves down on the smile on your face. A song at the shore, a little dance on the side of the road.
The place makes you feel more like a friend than a friend who always pretend to know you. And one day you, that place becomes an experience you waited long to live.
A journey turned into an adventure.
Never having an idea about how much of a place you will carry with yourself, you get ready to rove around another. Nostalgia for that place follows you wherever you go, and you relent in the intricate loneliness while remembering every bit of the life you lived then and there; the kind of loneliness one feels being among the people who know you as much as a man assert to know God.
While you continue to whirl in the eddy of memories, the same place embraces another wanderer in its warmth.
Sometimes I wonder what if I have walked the road everyone thought was the only way to reach a place that seemed almost same in everyone’s eyes and gave almost the same perspective. Would life have been less difficult?Would I have been less troubled? Would the journey have been easy?
Sometimes I wonder what if I have chosen the conventional way to live a life, feeling alive despite being reticent about everything around. Would there have been someone to walk with, someone who could imbue the emptiness on the street…someone who could fill the silence between the imaginary walls? Would I have taken another turn in anticipation?
I don’t know where the road that I chose will lead me to. Will it be the mountains that I ever wanted to touch, or an ocean I always wanted to swim in, or nowhere. But I’m sure that the road I didn’t choose would have taken me to an insipid place, where they all go, losing themselves through a vile journey, and I’m sure that’s not where I ever wanted to be and ever want to be.
The days are still long and the nights still are immeasurable, but memories of you, the thought of you, your brown eyes, your big nose, your hands, all now lies on the horizon. There is no fear if they cross, or if they stay there. Slowly and slowly, the line would fade.
The ocean is dark and deep as it always was, but I have learned to swim. I no longer fear of getting drowned in you, by you. The tides roar high and search for me, but my feet have befriended sand, clasping it tight. I no longer fear of getting devoured by the eerie sound of the tides. The screams from the torrent of your ruthless love do not shut, but the calmness of letting you go is not perturbed. I no longer fear getting swallowed. Slowly and slowly, the ocean would dry.
Your sun has set, and the summer of love has faded away into the cold mist. The moonlight has disowned your shadow, and the stars don’t look for you, yet somehow your face is reflected when they twinkle. Slowly and slowly, the cold mist would cloud the stars.
The day you named my prayer a curse for you, I puked out all the love for you over the memories we shared. However, I doubt myself if I puked it all, while I write this, thinking about you. But I know that, I will spill them out, slowly and slowly, poem by poem, word by word, smoothly emptying my body, and making space for another love, the one I always deserved, the one worthy to have and worthy to keep.