I wake up with a jolt, eyes still trying to adjust to the morning light. I switch sides, sweating in the summer heat under the fan that tirelessly spins from the ceiling. I shut my eyes back, the dream should complete. The pillow has sunk in a little and it’s edges border my head,uncomfortable from its sunken bosom.
I rub my forehead with my palm, incessantly and retire back to the vegetative state of a sleeping body. The nausea-tic mind seeks a fulfillment now. It must complete,the dream to find peace. A sudden outburst of visuals has blanketed my thoughts. Green tinted blotch like dreams must find an end.
The alarm clock has started to scream. I smack it off overlooking the position of its hands. They are showing me the hour,the minute, trying to make me realize that there are other transcend obligations than my suppressed-lexical dreams.
I leave the bed, light up my first morning fag clumsily and with inept steps walk up to the couch. I sit, clenching my forehead, a nagging headache has started to bother now. Perfunctorily smoking I again start to search my dream for its end.
We were never meant to happen. If you were to be true, my life would have wore an Utopian veil covering the cobwebs of the factual disturbances. Falling deeply in love with you was something that I didn’t see coming. It happened and you became a primary obsession in my routinely effectual life. It brought in me changes that even I didn’t know to handle. I was hit hard with the passiveness of my mind, of the self denials, terribly hurting myself. The words and actions of the then defunct mind did more harm to the “us” that never happened.
The headache was throbbing now, a constant feeling of its presence was annoying. I stubbed the cigarette. My thoughts were gestated with detached happenings. Some very short encounters between us, that left a lasting impression. Certain happenings, which would have otherwise surpassed the circus of phenomenons, created a whole new world of itself. To be a lover of your’s is nothing less than lying on a Procrustean bed. To be on the side where I have all to give and nothing to gain but your ignorance is a torment for my self reliant mind.
I turn on the shower and let the cold water run down my skin. The dream is clear within my tight shut eyes. “It is showing a chat window where I am having a conversation with you. We have been talking about general happenings, our lives for the evening. You have started to take an effort of knowing me. I am not another mundane naggers anymore and that is where you started a real conversation, making a certain plan and its a long message that you have sent, unlikely of your monologues. I am scrolling down impatiently to read it but it’s stuck at a point, the connection being the hindrance, I press the button hard, to read, losing patience….I..try…and..”
The water has created creases on my skin by now. The reddening fingers are numbed and I find myself leaning against the cold wall. A tear drop has quietly melted with the incessant flow of water on my face. I turn around, turn down the shower and leave the bathroom.
The mirror has been my accomplice in these thoughts. Always making be more of a ponderer. Plath did describe it precisely as a woman’s friend and foe. I have started to dry my hair now. Getting ready for another day of my life, mundane, commitment bound, deadlines struck, laced with people around with whom I have to act, act and be fine.
My mind struggles to scroll down the window badly, while I hassle with the key to put a lock on the door. The window is yet not moving. I pull the latch and it traps my finger in between. It hurt the same way as it had hurt when you had left, gone away, leaving back some unfinished talks.
……and for the US that never came true, they made a statue of us and put it on a mountain-top…