Sunday, December 9, 2012

If Only...



            The suffocation in my chest threatens to force me into seeking out the next park bench if not this one. I relent. My totebag now lies sprawled, unorthodox next to me as I try to find my way back to the present. I am not myself and I know it. It is but only logical to feel that way when the full force of heartbreak hits you. My mind tries to wrap itself around the fact that he is gone and where he is supposed to be, on the couch next to me, sits now, only a pillow. I leave it there to convince myself that fancy interior decoration is a placebo against the feeling of loss.

            My breath comes only in labored bouts and even amidst all the hurt, a short laugh escapes me.  There’s an undoubted ecstasy that remains distilled from the agony of lost love and at that moment, I understand the brilliant duality of it. It is just me now, having been sentenced to a blight of loneliness unasked. How long it would be before my condition matures into solitude, I do not know. Right now, I do not even know how my next moment of existence will play out or how I am going to pummel those pangs of disappointment that lie in wait for me. No more flowers in the morning. No more scribbled love notes. No more waiting to have him pick me up after work. No more late night conversations, no more pointless squabbles, apologies or any of those kisses that send my neurons into overdrive.

            I understand the consequences and I am already accosted with the pain. I can get my tears to stop eventually if only I can find them the answer to one question.
Who is this man whose memory that my tears wish to baptize? Whose apparent let down my heart has cartered in and is now mourning without bothering to enlighten me? Where was I when he loved me and why am I here now when I should be running after him crying, stop?

           What does he look like, this force that is making me lose control, making me question my dreams and my sanity? I looked around wildly, worry lines crawling on my face, where once happiness boarded. Is he around somewhere here? Should I go about placing a hand on each shoulder until I find the pair of eyes I am supposed to be looking into? Or, is this the other side of a blackhole, the dark side of a wrong choice? For a moment, I feel terrible and a little sob manages to escape my crude hunt for light.

           The park suddenly seems like the loneliest latitude you could locate, even though life dulls away normally around me. I gaze once again into the distance in a final attempt at identifying the source of my romantic sorrow. Is this what true love can do to you? Can two people reach out to each other across time and space? Did I accidentally overdose on something?\

           ‘Talk to me, atleast tell me who you are’, I ask him in my head. I almost expect a response, only lesser than a sharp twitch of lightening in the horizon and even lesser, the early symptom of mental disease.

            And then I stand up and sling my totebag over my shoulder. ‘Well,’ I say, to no one in particular. I walk away into my reality which seems distorted since my last time being in it.

            If I could atleast know who he was.

           Or, is…



Image courtsey : writerscafe.org



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