Only after you’ve sat and mingled in a sea of complete strangers and tried to feel a little at place, only then will you realise that at times the most sinking, wounding and difficult question to answer is, ‘Hey, how are you?’
Now I realise why I was thrust with the weight of blurry vision since childhood. Whoever runs the universe knew I was going to face things that’ll require me to cry. Cry frequently. Cry secretly. That’s why I was given glasses. To sob and unburden behind a thick veil of sheet. To snugly hide the swollen eyes and sit among people like nothing happened.
How I wish it also gave me fortitude to ferry past all the sorrow it so conveniently bestowed.
Also, I have lately been brooding over the enormous burden of getting to know someone utterly new. Which thread, in a giant, tumbled heap of threads do you pick up, when they say they wish to unravel your depth. I sit tangled in a labyrinth of stories. Where do I begin?
But with you, I wish to first gently tap on the sheet of your freezing heart. Then maybe place my palms softly, to let some warmth seep through. Then wait, for years even, to let my warmth melt your cold. Even if my hands bruise blue. To slowly allow you to be soft again. To be warm again. To love again.