Like a brinjal that keeps tossing on a steel plate,
My heart never stands still at the plate of decisions which I am likely to make while passing through an NC (no contact) phase.
All butterflies have left me- Yes, the ones who earlier used to flutter around me at 3 am on the park bench, not letting me sleep at night. Yes, the same butterflies who used to churn my stomach at every thought of yours, no matter how remote.
Look at me, screaming here like a raven trying to reach out to you, trying to convey the sad, pathetic tone of mine; the harsh croaking sound that oozes out nothing but pathos and pity for myself.
I feel I have been too harsh on myself- good job, perfect lover, and a comfortable life. I feel I haven’t given myself the sleep that my weary eyelids deserve. I feel I have just toiled painfully to prove more of myself to me than to you. There are times when you feel alone even amidst a throng although it never fails to compliment you, even when they acknowledge your compassionate and altruistic nature towards that person who doesn’t even give a flying fuck about whether you wake up the next morning or not.
It’s hard to concentrate on anything else other than the words like “Dove”, “Trova”, “Lunedi”, etc. when your exhausted consciousness sits to study Italian. But there’s something seductive about the way the mouth curls, the accent modifies when speaking this language. It makes you forget the pain of being you. Of being in a time where nothing seems alright. Yet, it’s queer that you keep going. Keep holding onto something as meagre as learning a language just for diverting your attention.
It’s not that you are too scared to face the cold, bleak reality trying to catch you like a half-caste fellow you usually encounter in Graham Greene’s novels. It’s like the feeling of numbness that passes like a swift gush through your heart making you seem at one point that let us forgive and move on because forgiving is so damn easy and cliched. But nobody taught us ever how to forgive.
And why never?