HURT

Dreams have a life of their own, breathing, growing, coloring your vision with shades of the rainbow or smudging your sight with dark opaque shades. Astha looked out of the clear glass trying to trace the droplets of water trickling down unaware of their end. Beautiful they were with their shiny sparkly round bodies; she wished that she could rush like them, desperate to dissolve into the cosmos. Her hands were getting cold; she gets up from the couch and steps towards the kitchen wanting to keep the mug in the sink. Warmth always escapes her even before she begins to get comfortable; before she keeps the mug down she tries to scavenge the last bit. DONT! Don’t think, don’t dream, don’t desire, don’t look forward, and don’t want. She looks out again at the pouring rain and smiles, it was ethereal the picture outside, green touching the skyline, droplets crashing down on the with a vengeance, she took a deep breath to catch the whiff of the sweet fragrance that fills the air when the scorching earth drinks to its satisfaction. Then bit by bit the images start to collate, she tries to turn away, tries to run away but they seem to be pulling her, cajoling her towards their cozy existence, she reprimands herself but their grasp is too strong. They show her a tomorrow that’s so beautiful, so perfect how she can ignore, how she can not walk towards the world her world when it’s perfect, where she is loved and cherished and the queen of somebody’s heart and world. A very bad idea, escapism is like a drink, a temporary solution. The next day you wake up to a splitting headache. But that does not keep you from drinking again. But as they say drinking to express joy is not the same as drinking to hide sorrow. So finally with a lot of effort ground reality is embraced once again. Full stop. She gets up and goes across to the window and throws it open, wind gushes in with a vengeance pregnant with bubbles of water and splashes on her face she has lived the moment. The cold brings her back to life, the breeze brings to her doorstep the beauty of life and she leans across to catch as much as she can of this miracle. There is the faint ringing of a bell and she tries to catch its sound trying to place it into the puzzle of her mind and it grows louder and consistent. Its loud
Enough to drown her thinking, its hurting her now somebody is trying to talk to her. There are words in-between the harshness she can’t decipher what they mean.
She crashes on the ground writhing in pain. Suddenly the noise has stopped. There is peace. She slowly looks up at the whirring fan circling like a mad vulture,
She looks away. Life just refuses to let her live.
The noise had got her once again. It was not going to let go of her. It was here to stay. Everything that should be with her slowly finds its way out of her cosmos.
An empty nest is an open invitation to characters of destruction.
Lot of effort and she finds her two feet. Standing on them is difficult, she stumbles, nobody holds her, there is hurt. A smile adorns her face. Her stride is more confident. She moves towards the almirah, beneath a maroon sari lies her
Faith her dreams her life. He smiles at her his sweet innocent smile. She smiles back at him for the last time. Her fingers tenderly tracing the counters of his face. In a flash his smile had been broken into a million pieces. Hurt was hurt by her.

There was no place for him in her life.