Score

It was 8:00 PM in the evening when she got back home from another long day at her corporate job. She knew that in the end she only made money for some rich guy. She had tried multiple times to convince herself that she needs to get her satisfaction from the work and not the result. But she never really succeeded. She had learnt tricks though, of how not to let it get her. Things she said to herself, repeatedly. But today was just one of those days when she was not in a mood to talk to herself. Not in a mood to try and reason with herself. She wanted lose herself to someone else's thoughts. For that she will need other tricks. 

It was 8:30 now. "He'll be back soon" she thought. "probably", she added as an after thought born out of experience and a habit to not let her expectations grow. With him, you can never really tell how things proceed. That was one of the reasons why she had fallen for him. He was the element of chaos in her life.  But the relationship lived in the world of hand written letters. He was hardly ever available when he was needed. She had realized his life was a constant stream of changing plans and had given up trying to keep up. Instead, she had learnt how to live in a lag.  

She took out from her purse things she needed to get his attention. Every now and then, when she needed him for herself, she would go through this elaborate ceremony. A kind of a ritual she needed to go to special markets for in order to make it happen. It was a sort of a token that she needed to provide in order to get access to the real him; a him which in normal conditions was sealed completely by wit, humor and indifference.  It was 9:00 already when she finished and his absence still present. So she decided to attack her chores. By the time she was done with them, it was 10:30 and he had still not returned.  

She left the joint she had made on the table where she knew he would find it with a note written on it. "Wake me up when you find this". She planned to have dinner with him. She woke up next morning to find him on her side, cuddled the way he always liked. He smelt of marijuana. She sighed and made a mental note to get more weed and began another day of their 15 year of relationship.  

Love Hurt Heal Repeat

And then there was the goodbye...it was only for a night but the departure meant something far more significant than a temporary farewell. It was saying goodbye to a state of being. The hug lasted for longer than hugs have any right to and in the silent pressure they tried to convey all the affection, both existing and that which only had memories of it left. The affection which had drowned in the daily din of complaints blames and defenses. No words were said. In that one hug, he felt that love which had formed the basis of it all; for once it was not corrupted by lack of will to understand or the excess of one to explain.

As he walked away, each step painful, he also felt less heavy. The acceptance of break up brought with it the knowledge that the other would no longer have the power to hurt him, disappoint him, nor will he be capable of hurting himself by expectations he built up; depends on which side of the story you believe. He now believed in both, in his own insecurities as well as other's incapability. Most of all he believed in circumstances and its diabolic working.

It was so simple, they were screwed by queer cause and effect pair...an effect which once initiated would become its own cause and the cycle would keep repeating. There was no healing each other, it was impossible because they both were responsible for each other's sickness. They both kept passing it to each other. But distance, that was healing. He felt like a flower that bloomed only to be caught in a storm both harsh and dry, leaving it torn, misshaped and vulnerable. Night had fallen and it was finally closing up, carefully tucking each wounded petal back into a protection. Each step was closing of open gates that had led straight to his core. He felt secure. But it wasn't for long.

He dreamed of memories and hopes that night, only to wake up to find ruffled the feathers that he had thought he had tucked in last night, feathers that were too used to flying and would not stay put. And he began the process again, one by one, straightening and tucking them in till he felt secure again. He realized that for a while, he would have to keep doing this. Like a weekly theater, only the actors of the play were also the players of the act which it tried to recreate. He could have gone for the distractions, of conversations, of books; but he did not. He will not hide behind them. But look straight into the storm, learn from it and get strength from it to face the inner storm of recurring love. He will not kill the love, though, he couldn't have, it was beautiful and lasting. But to be in love and to be in a relationship are different things. It's the latter he had to learn to get used to not having.

Tomorrow

A day will come when you will realize, what all paths were deliberately chosen, what all lights had to be shown and what all stops had to be taken for you to reach that day...

and when you will, you'll finally understand, that that miracles don't happen, but are made. That even though sometimes good stories did start, they still took you to be sustained...

and that day, it will also dawn upon, that the only reason they seemed like happening on their on accord, is not because no attempts were made, not because it was written in fates, but only because when you did those things, they were effortless, and that was its grace. 

Two Love Stories

For one was love that came and went,

he lingered till the need be;

though not selfish he was for,

he gave while he stayed...

and then took it away where he had to be.

The second came all shy and scared,

he stayed till he had to leave;

selfless he was for he gave willingly,

took but never asked for it...

and left one day only to never leave.