Everything was fine. But it was seven 7 months too long and he did not feel a thing.
I was thrown off balance a lot of times in these seven months but he did not feel a thing. He was not sad, he was completely in sync with his normal day to day routine. There was not any deviation in his life, this was the most disturbing. As I was often derailed from the so called routine by the smallest of the things, physical things and emotional things and all types of other things too.
Us two, we were madly in love at one point like everyone else and that point softened up pretty soon and then there was the struggle.
The struggle to find some commonality became the most engaging event of my life. I struggled through my days and months, sometimes reaching for the leaves, sometimes breaking them. Sometimes, I stepped over them because I also lost the soft touch.
Touch. I still remembered how it felt to have touched the soul of another being. Like they open themselves up to you in full faith, it was like a sacred mantra given to you by your guru and you have to chant it everyday , keep it safe in your heart, a bone of contention between two souls completely owned and disowned by them. Once you have seen the soul view of another being, then you cannot not know that anymore, meaning all the excuses of not being able to cope up with the other person becomes a string of personal choices.
Like this one where it has been seven months. It was still January when we went to that place, a trip to the foreign lands, a soul fulfilling experience to walk through those rivers, bite off the salt in our mouths that the humid islands were abundant in.
The blue ocean had a whole impact on me, to him it was a vacation and it had an expiry date. But the Pacific had me. The first meeting till the last goodbye, the vastness in the daylight and its cold, uncaring nature in the night, both had an impact. It was respect and love both, for the deep blue endless waters.
I have been counting days since the day I came back from there but it was not the case with him. He was okay. The routine never bothered him, it lit up his world, the order and the lack of any wiggle room in a perfectly planned routine is how he thrives the best. It is almost poetic how much the order of things mean to some people in this world.
I have been counting days, sliding the notion here and there, sometimes reaching for the leaves, sometimes grabbing them and sometimes walking over them as I have also lost the soft touch. But all in vain. He had scrunched down all of my efforts for this simple suggestion of visiting a new place, exploring a little bit of this planet with the little resources we have. It was not impossible, it was very much possible but without any possibility of it happening anytime soon.
I am in May right now, just one of the seven months…in between when he might be open for business again and will be his giddy self in the next vacation.
Vacation. I am developing a healthy disregard for this word. The wholesome experience of traveling was reduced to a finite concept and put inside a match box. You take them out one by one and have to quickly light your lamps before the fire runs out which is a pretty quick thing to happen with matchsticks.
That is not what I want to do. I want to visit places so that they can stay with me and I, within them. My heart should feel a kind of something whenever there is a mention of that place. I should be able to start my sentences with the phrase, “I feel…” and then should talk about that place like we do of an old friend.
Out of all the conspiracies in the world, I wish these 7 months of mundane life would turn into something worth living for. The tightness in my throat each day makes me want to go to sleep, only to be woken up in September when it will be again that time of our lives.
I will pack my bags and fold my clothes beside small portions of everything necessary into the suitcase which will then take me to a new place. A new piece of land to explore.
My slice of life between two hardened layers of mundane, the seven months in between.
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