A Sticky note on the fridge welcomed me that fateful morning. And it said, "Good bye". It was not signed and I knew who it was from.
I stared at it intensely. Almost thinking that the moment that I was expecting had come that day. Of truth. Of the ugliness. Of everything else I believed on this earth.
I almost wished that the message would go away or give more room to some other cryptic message that would be lurking somewhere on that note. Anywhere even outside that note. Like a treasure hunt. Maybe this was just a clue to get me somewhere. A happier somewhere.
I looked at it again and again. And then with a finality I crumpled the paper in the palm and toyed with it for sometime. Should I throw this away in the bin? Or keep it as a memoir of the good ole days?
Would I live long enough and be happy enough to tell this tale to my grand kids? I ironed the paper again to see the message. I saw the ink turn blurry. Of course the tears. They had to come. What else is a body capable of when it gets over initial shock of connecting with something that's extremely painful?
Simple message was a stab in my stomach to tell me what a soul I was. Of the pain I caused. Of the things I did not do. Of the things that were unintended. Of the long and sometime painful journeys. Of the happiness.
Neither the stab nor the message nor the person who left- what did they know about what I had done? What did they know of the pain I absorbed? What did they know of the things that were incomplete? And most of all, what did they know about me?
Nothing.
Good bye. That's all a collective is capable of.
And then my anger hit me. Oh- the time to re-balance my chakras, I say :-).
I stared at it intensely. Almost thinking that the moment that I was expecting had come that day. Of truth. Of the ugliness. Of everything else I believed on this earth.
I almost wished that the message would go away or give more room to some other cryptic message that would be lurking somewhere on that note. Anywhere even outside that note. Like a treasure hunt. Maybe this was just a clue to get me somewhere. A happier somewhere.
I looked at it again and again. And then with a finality I crumpled the paper in the palm and toyed with it for sometime. Should I throw this away in the bin? Or keep it as a memoir of the good ole days?
Would I live long enough and be happy enough to tell this tale to my grand kids? I ironed the paper again to see the message. I saw the ink turn blurry. Of course the tears. They had to come. What else is a body capable of when it gets over initial shock of connecting with something that's extremely painful?
Simple message was a stab in my stomach to tell me what a soul I was. Of the pain I caused. Of the things I did not do. Of the things that were unintended. Of the long and sometime painful journeys. Of the happiness.
Neither the stab nor the message nor the person who left- what did they know about what I had done? What did they know of the pain I absorbed? What did they know of the things that were incomplete? And most of all, what did they know about me?
Nothing.
Good bye. That's all a collective is capable of.
And then my anger hit me. Oh- the time to re-balance my chakras, I say :-).
No comments:
Post a Comment