She was someone who had always seemed friendly. Someone who talked a lot. She was everyone's friend, always keeping in touch. Through school and college, she was always the connecting dot between people. She always knew what the others were upto.
She was someone who everyone thought they knew.
And now they wonder.
She was someone who everyone thought they knew.
And now they wonder.
Lets call him Alex. Alex wonders what happened to her. He had thought of her as a constant. And now she is not to be reached. Him and the others, they wonder.
She sits on the beach, wondering. Some random kids came running, eager to run into the sea. "Life, is that you making them run?", she thinks. "I remember that life in me. I still find it when I want to. But now this is what I've come to like. I have come to like sitting here. I like switching off my mobile and running off into silence. I like the freedom of being able to walk in crowds and not caring about meeting people I know.
I love this privilege of meeting people, knowing them for a short time and then waving off goodbye. I like this new found freedom of saying goodbye, meaning it to its deepest meaning. We'll meet if we do."
The last time she had met Alex, he had told her that she was mad for wanting loneliness. She had not bothered to reply. He wouldn't have tried to understand anyway. Nobody tries to understand others, admitting to herself that she didn't want to understand Alex's words. She didn't see it as loneliness anyway. She liked to call it solitude. Solitude was freedom, loneliness was when you had chains of remembrances.
She hardly remembers Alex. Alex, or the others, to her, is of the past. When he is, or they are, the present, he, or they, will be her life. This is the way she wants it to be, the way she likes it.
She scooped up a handful of sand and let it slide, slowly. "There goes my present, my life.
The last time she had met Alex, he had told her that she was mad for wanting loneliness. She had not bothered to reply. He wouldn't have tried to understand anyway. Nobody tries to understand others, admitting to herself that she didn't want to understand Alex's words. She didn't see it as loneliness anyway. She liked to call it solitude. Solitude was freedom, loneliness was when you had chains of remembrances.
She hardly remembers Alex. Alex, or the others, to her, is of the past. When he is, or they are, the present, he, or they, will be her life. This is the way she wants it to be, the way she likes it.
She scooped up a handful of sand and let it slide, slowly. "There goes my present, my life.
That is the way life should be, she thought. Life in a goldfish's memory. Let only the present matter.
C'est la vie! Such is life. This is the way I want it, now."
She will change when she does. But until then, this is what she is.
C'est la vie! Such is life. This is the way I want it, now."
She will change when she does. But until then, this is what she is.
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