‘Big Jet Plane’, December Haze (Part 2)

December. You became indispensable with your regular calls, your messages, conversations we had over cups of tea, the endearing names you had for me each given day. I still don’t know if I was falling head over heels for you, was I irreversibly smitten by you or was it the idea of you? Are they separable? Was it your charm, was it your sophistication, the fact that you indulge in reading (although I am still to confirm if you completed any of the books that you had been reading, ‘Forty Rules of Love’, a book you said was unputdownable that I ordered it, much to Arun’s surprise, ‘The Chemist’, ‘An Abundance of Katherines’ which was still at your bedside desk the last time I met you), that you share the same love for ‘F.R.I.E.N.D.S.’, that your arm is embellished with tattoos of ‘The Deathly Hallows’, a tattoo I have been desiring ever since I can remember, that you paint like a charm, your indisputable cooking skills, your obsession with order and neatness, that you had the right words, always, your messages and voice notes that never failed to carve a smile on my face, your calls which I eagerly waited for every evening, meeting you over weekends?

I did not know then nor do I have the answers now. Nonetheless I could not bring myself to imagine a life together, terrified that I was from my previous scar, frightened of giving it a name. Only the moment mattered, likely. But try as much as we can, is it truthfully simple to live in the moment with no hint, no qualms, no anticipation about a tomorrow? And my naive self began nurturing a plausible togetherness.

January. The winds changed direction and my ship of dreams sailed into choppy waters. Something had changed, of that I was certain. The calls had reduced, you were always busy and the messages had trickled close to nothingness. Try as much as I could, I could not help compare the changes. Was it something I said, did I come out way too strongly on you than you had anticipated of me, were my expectations to be blamed? I know not. All these thoughts haunted me growing in stature and the more I indulged in thinking the more I fuelled their ghastly shapes; the piercing tentacles of thinking punctured my rationality; despair clung onto my skin, muddled my imagination, my assumptions were found upon an imagination gone astray, my inferences rose above my cluttered assumption, and my behaviour towered through mangled inferences.

You said I was being passively aggressive and I do not deny it. But were you able to see the raging war within the realms of my mind? What did I seek of you, an assurance, a promise, a possible happily ever-after? But that was promised to me, was not it, as your permanence, as a companion to you till eternity in whatever capacity that eternity be? You had the uncanny ability of reading my mind and sensing my thoughts. Were you able to see the seed that had germinated into this thorny bush of despondency? You had said, once, after I asked of you, again, that it is a fight between my consciousness and my sub-consciousness. I trusted you, I still do, but I could help dissipate the thought that you were avoiding me? I was doing fine in my bubble of solitude. Why did you come if you were to fade away? Did I ask too much of you, was I being a roadblock to your clarity?

Image Source: Taylor Swift, ‘Tim McGraw’

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