She left me, and I’m not blaming her. If there’s anyone to blame, it’s me. I spoke to mother this morning. Asked her, “What will come out of all this?” It’s a question, I’ve asked her repeatedly in so many forms.
“Will I get better? Will things work out? What happens when you’re gone? I just can’t do the simplest things when I’m broken like taking a shower or brushing my teeth, how am I going to ever manage?”
She always gives me the simplest answer, asking me to believe. But somewhere, years ago, I gave up completely. I lost the will to fight for the things I wanted or hell, even needed. I started slow dancing with apathy in her darkened room, knowingly. And as I watched the shadows envelope me completely, the spotlight fell on her, dressed in her seamless, sensual gown. She held me with her cold hands, kissed me and anesthetized me, and I loved the numb. I don’t know how you can love something you don’t feel. It’s basically loving a lack of emotion, but it’s possible and unexplainable.
I’m now drinking, trying hard to get this room lit again, because I’d rather feel sadness than be this breathing, existing cadaver like death himself. But drinking brings guilt for letting all the beautiful people in my life go. I guess that’s my biggest flaw. I believe that people can heal me, and put me together, when I’m just a collage of emotion, and shards of consciousness put together, and they’re no different. Even the most beautiful people in your life aren’t celestial and otherworldly, because human love finds its grounding in finitude.
We can’t know everything, or judge everything correctly, or intuit with 100% accuracy, because we’re mortal – not just because we die, but also because there is only so much we can do, so little we can experience despite all the color life throws at us. We’re just slivered, severed from infinity, right from the beginning, knowing in part, absorbing more in part, and making decisions in part, before dying, and leaving a part in someone’s consciousness. Well, someone will remember you. Trust me, and it’s often the people we never gave a damn about. Or someone who loved us ferociously, but we didn’t give that love justice.
So she left me. I guess we’ll go back to being friends, although it’s hard. I’m not a good person. Deep down, I feel ugly and I guess I’m drinking tomorrow too.
© Nitin Lalit Murali (2018)