Conversation

It was a time warp: the same silent pauses and trickling thoughts and images. You could hear the laugh resounding through the hall with unfinished desks and chairs. And also feel the swaying dance on the collection of English songs. The whispers and the rush of blood to those cheekbones, ending in long conversations on the phone.

And us. At the very beginning.

“Sing a song.” “Now? You want to wake up the world to throw me out?”

“It was there…wasn’t it?” “Yeah…it was…”

The comfort of being silent and yet saying it all out, of reading the mind and the heart too, is difficult in today’s world of constant communication. You know, not the awkward silence, when there is nothing to say and you keep thinking what to say next, or hoping that the other person would pick some topic, or just leave. But the silence which you enjoy, where you are yourself without having to explain who you are and you wish that the words were lost forever and no one speaks again. That delectable silence was with us, around us, enveloping the real world.

“I still have that…” “What?”

“The last one you wrote…” “That was poison…throw that away…it can only hurt.”

“Yeah…it hurts the most…but I can’t let go of it…”

You would think why keep the last one, the one with the worst thoughts, the hatred, the anger, the hurt…when I threw the sweet ones away, the ones that would give the smiles, and lessen the agonising pain, the ones that would make me believe again…where it still was a fairy land.

But I can’t…it’s like the marks on the moon, or the thorns of the roses, which keeps reminding how it was not perfect, nevertheless beautiful in its way…it played its part in making me the way I am…and I surely don’t regret that.

“Wouldn’t you have written the same things?” “No. Never.”

“You can’t feel what I did.” “I can.”

Are we fighting? No we are not. There is no point in fighting now. There is no weight left. Time a healer? May be, maybe not. May be forgiving is the best way to alleviate the pain. When you can’t answer the recurring questions, and the questions hurt more than accepting things to be the way they are, like suspension of disbelief…I m going to literature again, using it to serve my purpose…

Or I am just being an escapist.

“It’s late…” “Hmmm…”

“Good night then…” “Ya...’gnite”

Trrrrrup Trrrrrup Trrrrrup <engage tone>