There’s a hand on my forehead and an arm around my shoulder, my skin is burning and my eyes are almost orange from the sunshine. Tired and weepy, I look at you and can’t believe you’re the same person who said those things just a few hours ago. You look so warm and comforting, so welcoming, so protective. How are you so different now?
Now that it’s you and me, it’s not funny anymore. It’s not a game; I’m not your toy. It’s not a joke or a series of faux pas. In this moment we know each other, we just get it.It’s you and me…and an expanse of eighteen patches of perfect grass. Eighteen greens and a long walk -- you hand me a small white ball with something scribbled across its 250-odd dimples.
There it is, the phrase I love – the one I never told you about – my head reeling, I start to ask you how…
…my worlds collide. And now you’re gone, you’re not you anymore. We’re not alone now, surrounded by crowds, who don’t know or understand. By nosey know-it-alls, who want to save me from you... my joy, my salve, my sweet surrender. If only they knew how far I've fallen…
I have decided, after much deliberation, to make a trip to the north of India in about 3 months. Now that I have written this down, I shouldn't be allowed to go back on it.
I have also decided, to read three books while I'm on my break from work.
(Work. Ick. Ick Ick. Ok, it's not thaaaaaat bad.)
I have also decided, to write.
I've decided to acquire shiny hair and great skin. Right~~
And to be refined and lady-like.
I don't know what I want. I remember being in this position about a year ago. Faced with almost the same complications and same questions. I took a leap of faith last time, and fell...hard..flat on my face. This time, something is holding me back...not something within me...something external. I would go for it again, it feels more exciting than the last time, more fun and much more dangerous. Except, this time the decision isn't in my hands...not yet anyway :-)
Maybe there are forces at work that I can't see, maybe it's him and maybe it's just me.
This last week has been a blur. I feel so happy to feel what I feel, but it's that kind of happiness you feel unsure about, the outcome of which may or may not be good. But just to feel like this, is different.
I wanted to decide whether I'm happy or unhappy or angry or sad. I think it's a new and happy feeling. I've decided not to worry about what comes of it. I've decided to embrace this for what it is and to take whatever comes, in my stride.
Something I read today, struck a nerve.
Suppose we really found him. What if, He met us today? I know I’m not ready. I know there are things I’ve done that I haven’t been able to ask forgiveness for, mostly because I haven’t dealt with them actually happening.
In suggesting that for the most part, we’re playing around with the image of God, one of my favourite writers seems to have said the wisest thing.
Because really, what are we looking for when we say we search for God? A counselor, a friend? Forgiveness? Someone to thank? Someone to ask ‘why me?’ I know I search for different things in God, on different days. Comfort seems to be the word that encompasses all of them...
"But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you."
[Fiction]
And so I thought of your room today.
Your lights are always on whenever I drive past and I wonder what you do in there all the time. I remember the first time you took me there, the way I felt. I was trying to hide myself in some way. Hide fear, hide scars, hide inexperience, hide drunkenness. I remember your smile, the one you’ve flashed me so often, and the one I shy away from every time I see it. Life feels surreal when I’m with you, like an excerpt from a racy novel. You don’t feel like the other people I meet. I look up to you in a different way. You constantly surprise me.
When we talk after, while you smoke a cigarette and ash it, I watch your fingers. I love feeling the sound of your voice fill my head. Sometimes I tune out the words and then it’s just a sound, a kind of music. I understand you, in so many ways. Your eccentricities all make sense to me.
When we talk before, I feel my stomach go into a knot. I feel my forehead moistening. I wonder what’ll happen and I wait. I even find that I hold my breath sometimes.
You’re always honest with me, sometimes subtly, sometimes brutally. I feel like you’re always careful not to hurt my feelings too much. You don’t like it when I play down my abilities, but when I big myself up, you break me.
We talk often – at dinners, on drives and on my terrace. We talk of our ideals, our dreams and how everything is so
eff-ing wrong. We never talk about us though, and when we do, even in jest, I don’t say much. You say – we’re this and we’re that. I listen and smile, and nod. To an outsider, it may seem like I don’t think about our relationship, but in truth, I have analysed it,
over-analysed it, dissected it, in every way possible.
I’m bored. I feel like I’ve said (or typed) those words so many times in the last 2 years!! To everyone I meet online, in response to a text, in conversations over dinner at work, when asked ‘What’s up’ in the rest room, when you call, when she calls, when he calls or
even…when I call.
When anyone asks me why I did it, and they often do, my answer is usually –
boredom.
My friend asked me this over drinks the other day and then said sternly, don’t compromise. And so I thought about ideals today. We all have them.
Mine....I want him to be a wearer of solid colours; who looks amazing in a suit.
I want to be able to fit into his life and have him fit into mine easily.
Someone tall, with nice arms and hands, dark hair and dark eyes.
Someone who will be there to pick me up and to drop me off.
Someone who can write; is good with words and well-read.
Someone I can brag about and who can brag about me.
I want a sense of humour, sarcasm and quick retorts.
I want someone who I can talk to about anything.
I want someone who is respectful and refined.
Someone with a spine, someone confident.
I want him to be able to tick me off.
I want someone self-assured.
I want him to be articulate.
I want hugs and smiles.
I want faithfulness.
I want chivalry.
I want bravery.
And honesty.
Passion.
Love.
You.
Us.
At first it was difficult and now it’s easy. But also, a tad scary.
Yesterday I experienced, first hand, a small miracle, which really made my day. So if you’re reading this, thank you for being so freakin’ cool! I
love you, as my friend and counselor. I’m so happy for you, for what you’re doing and I’m glad you’re in my life.
I remember going to, what I now call IHOP. The first day I went there was an evening after way too many long island ice teas. It was happy-hour at Fridays and I didn’t think. Or I over-thought. Anyway, it was funny, painful, scary, interesting, happy, surreal...a lot of things. I revisited IHOP a few times in the last year; we had what I
know to be our last tryst, in early April.
On a different note:
I thought of the day I reached there, standing at the door, bending slightly, looking down at the stairs, arms wide open, holding my breath, waiting…and then hugging you tight…!:) You were wearing a beige trench coat and a Burberry scarf. You smelt of you, of October and just the way I imagined for the two months we’d been apart.
That was my favorite moment.
That is also my nicest memory of you and us.
I actually thought of you when I landed on my friend’s Facebook profile and saw pictures of her in at the same place we were. Same pool, same lawns, same restaurant, same towels, same private beach. And that is when I thought of you and whether I should write about you. Justify ‘us’ with a mention to the world. Or keep you a secret from the people who think differently of me.
