The Sand…

This heart is but an empty space – even with you filling all its corners. The apathy in this relationship is seeping in through the holes in the ceiling and the cracks in the floor. The ground beneath our feet is moist and slowly ebbing at my heels and you refuse to see it.

I am disgusted at myself for not throwing the door open and letting myself out. Instead, I chose to sit back and wait for time to rot the latch on the door so that the wind flings it open. I guess that may not happen in my lifetime. I waited so long that limbs have forgotten how to move. I am, but just an old stone waiting to crumble – ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

I will let you a secret today. I will live long enough to run every day that I have lived, all over again in my head and then will die a slow death with no friends, no family, no well wishers and no acquaintances. I will outlive all others and will be the lone guard of my solitude that I so carefully nurtured and nourished through all these years.

The only regret that I will perhaps carry is that there was no one I could bequeath pieces of my old diaries and pages that I left half filled. I will carry a few stories with me – the others will be left strewn on the floor and trashed when the floor is cleaned up after me. These are the stories that make me. I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth. I didn’t achieve anything significant. I lived faceless in a crowd and will die without a whimper. The only dent I thought I could make was change another life, give someone else a perspective, make someone else see this world the way I did. I guess I failed on that level as well.

The smoke leaves the lungs and the words follow on to a sheet of paper. The Sun bids farewell and I crumble another day into the dustbin. One of these days, I will make you give me a big lasting scar on my back. The kind which doesn’t heal soon. I will buy you the dagger to do that too. Dig it deep in my back at a spot where I can’t see it or touch it with my fingers and let it run long enough to trace my spine. I will let the blood flow freely as long as it can and let the wound heal on its own and when it does I will make you give another wound. I guess this is the only way I can give your pain an identity, a name and bring it to the fore.

I will abide by all the rules you set for us and will accept all what you choose to inflict. Not that I am afraid of you or have lost faith in my abilities but then I guess not all battles are worth fighting. I will let myself be for now and be the sand in your hands. I will stay till you keep your palms open and slip away the moment you decide to clench your fist.

There isn’t a conclusion to this rant so don’t try to find any. There won’t be any till I keep writing. Ironically, the conclusion will come with a page left in drafts – unfinished waiting for me to return.

I won’t.