He’ll drive me to an obscure spot one night, cryptic and secluded. Desperate to reveal his “secret” place, a barren parking lot fornenst the roaring sea. He’ll take my hand and navigate a narrow passageway pitifully consumed by verdancy, then skilfully tread along velvety sand where minuscule, adamantine granules dexterously slip between toes.
He’ll pause for a moment and survey the skies above and I’ll watch in awe as he inhales saltine breaths of satisfaction. He’ll lay down a mandala towel then motion for me to join. Without a moment to spare I’ll eagerly follow his lead and gracefully entwine my limbs with his.
I did the unthinkable yesterday.
I mentioned to a mother of two that I was enervated. Simply opened up about how exhausted I’d been of late. How the need for an afternoon siesta was becoming increasingly burdensome and how I struggled to find balance juggling different roles.
Of course what was I thinking? Speaking such truths to someone like herself.
Because how could someone like myself experience such feelings of fatigue?
I wish I could be the kind person who was genuinely elated for the good news of others.
The kind who truly felt delighted and profoundly jubilant over their milestone accomplishments. That I could simply comprehend and revel in such joyous occasions as opposed to the usual display of faux contentment; the farce that simply masks my actual contempt.
My life is a tangled web of insolvency and despondency.
A slave to melancholic tendencies.
Blinded and paralysed, a parasite of sorts, fused into my soul with no hope of dissolution.
One in which I have become accustomed to, as if we were one; forever fettered.
I don’t understand why it’s seemingly impossible to have a joyous birthday?
As if in humbly asking I’ve sealed an unfortunate fate; an impasse.
And just when I thought nothing could surpass the grand disappointment and despondency that came with my last birthday “celebration”, in chimes the Universe with such a beaut. I truly believed I could not feel such despair, but alas the Universe has gone out of its way to prove such inklings are indeed false on my part.
Ever since that adventitious encounter weeks ago, I can’t seem to remove the lingering cerebration of him. Like an enchantment of sorts, he floods my senses; invading thoughts both during the day and late at night.
Is it pleasant? Not really. At times his essence is comforting, a phantasmal companion of sorts. But lately his idle presence becomes more and more cautionary, adding to my anxiety.
What if our paths crossed yet again? How could I allow him to view me as I am today? To let him into this maelstrom of a life?