When people leave

“When people leave”



I don’t remember what age I was when I had first felt a lingering sense of loss inside myself. People don’t always mark when they leave, sometimes they leave in voids of echoes. And sometimes, they leave in a way that they hold onto you too honestly. Honesty which whispers around your routine, in standing inside the bathroom while you’re waiting for the bucket to be filled, until suddenly you realize that even whispers can turn you deaf. So the bucket is filled. It is over filled.


I was walking down an aisle of repeated metaphors sitting inside the church praying to be healed. But I couldn’t remember how old I was. There was no measure of time. There were only fragments stretched out like corridors made up of vacuum. So much hung in that vacuum devoid of the warmth of gravity. But there I was, staring at the clock, waiting for it to strike forever. Only later did I realize that it had already stopped working.

Have you ever asked someone a question and wondered at the obnoxious idea of the word “obvious” when they answered with “OBVIOUSLY”? Has it ever hit you how humans become so used to certain gaps in their life that obvious is the most obvious answer? And sometimes, we dive too deep into obvious. The absence of the obvious becomes too obvious. Or does it?

In my thoughts, there is a solid floor of vapors. It is too hard to sleep on. So I just jump over it. It has cracked, here and there. It is too unsafe to sleep on now. Just like when you look at a freshly emptied almirah, with nothing but hangers and it gets too difficult to decide what to fill it with. So you just let it be and it exists there like a crack you’re too afraid to think of. Or you have too much to fill it with. So you suffocate that crack.

I cannot sum up the feelings. Calculations make it gravely precise. I am going to let it flow with a rapid exuberance that now feels like home.










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