What do you do when
you’re alone?
Do some errands around
the house?
Do some digging on the
garden that you want to build since, forever.
Do swipe through
tinder?
Check who last visited
you’re instagram?
Or do you just sit
there on your couch, grey, textured, idly. Watching outside the window with
a cup of black coffee in your hand at
the audacity of the nature to rain just at the wrong moment.
Listening to some jazz
music, do you feel like dancing with a glass of old cherry wine in your hand?
But realising you cant
do it, because you’re alone. There is no one in your house, no one beside you, no glass of wine but a messy bedside table with hairbrush, three last books
you read shovelled and the cups of coffee you had since morning, on it. There
you are. Alone or should I say, lonely .
A message ping up on
your apple xs,
“John Matthew, Ankan Chowdhury and 188 other
people reacted to your photo.”
You sighed, took long
breath kept the phone on the table upside down, you did notice the battery
charge left it signaled “42%”.
Now, you’re listening
to the rain drops on the balcony how chivalrous it can be, there’s silence and
you think its healing but,
is it ?
You closed your eyed
held the mug tightly, pretending to remember something but there is nothing to
remember, except the last pay check you got, of the last person you met at
Applebees who was looking at your cleavage instead of your eyes, of the last
picture you clicked with you’re friends, all smiling and happy. But are you ?
You were thinking
about the book store you went to on 22nd February and was wearing a
chiffon shirt and trousers, two rings on your finger, one is emerald other is
gold with a simple cut out, you were wearing that bracelet your mother sent
you, button earrings usual one’s and the gold necklace, hairs messy tied up
into a bun , you were not wearing bra and had the auve leather handbag you
bought from zara, it was long came up to you waist and for shoes the flats from
MANGO. You did not had any make up on, the freckles were visible with the
natural tinge of peach on the apples of your cheek, you had light dark circles
maybe anxiety .
In that book store you
went across this guy, who did not look at your cleavage but your eyes and
helped with the book that you could not reach to, he looked like a dreamer
though . lost, hurt, broken, you wanted to talk to him meet him on a coffee
date, but you did not say anything except a “thank you “, subtly.
You are regretting, regretting not talking to him, regretting sitting there on the couch and not
going to the balcony and getting drenched on the first spring rain, regretting
to pretend happy when there is a chaos inside, regretting not telling someone
what you felt when you were drowning in your emotions and just telling,
“ I’m
fine.”
You kept the cup on
the table open the balcony door, went outside to get wet, to cry, you’re
wearing a chiffon top, a mixture of pink and peach, a criss-crossed boxer .
You’re drenching now, your nipples are erect and visible, you stood there for
a while put your wet hairs behind, every inch of your body soaking in water
you decide not regret, you decide to tell the truth and accept it.
Only for that day as
we all do.
