December

I have this sinking feeling, that in between all the weddings coming to pass as this year ends, will be a wedding that I will not be invited to. But that wedding, with all its classy décor, and extravagant menu, and rich man’s daughter feel all around will have a greater impact on my system than even the one of the friend that wouldn’t be if it wasn’t for the 300 steps of an art museum that I helped him climb.

This fear cripples me. So much so that I say stay up till dawn, and often beyond, contemplating fantastic possibilities that would make such great Indian movies. Of swashbuckling heroics at the foot of the stage, and romantic showdowns in the bridal room, so much detail I pour into these futile reveries, even the sepia tone of the pearls beaded on your red dress.

But I feel so useless as they end. So utterly helpless and lost in reality when the fantasy world seems so much more full of that which is worth living for. But in real time and real world there is no place for us anymore. When that wedding comes about, I will not be invited, and I will not be missed, but I will stay up all night crying and laughing at random at my loss and my stupidity. It would seem, prudent, to want something more attainable at this point, someone more attainable.
And I do.

But underneath the visions of a brighter future, there is always the shadow of the past which is shaped like you.

And no sooner have I recognized the need to run away from this shadow that it comes and envelopes me in its tenacious grasp as if never to let go. And the false promise of that is so painful to bear, since I will never feel the warmth of your arms again.

I write and I bleed in the hopes of letting you know what I go through in the absence of you.

But what good is it all? My words? My blood? My angst, my longing, my pain… when you don’t care. When you look back on us like the wistful mistake of teenage and shudder at the remembered passion of trembling finger tips. When you go through each day without as much as a thought spared for me.

I chase memories like its divine decree.

I follow shadows caste by a sun that no longer shines.

I trace footsteps long consumed by the tides of time.

And I do this without apology, without any sense of guilt or remorse. I do this as if it IS divine decree, as if the sun that shines now can still cast your silhouette besides mine ... beyond tide, beyond time.