1 Hr 15 Mins
It’s been awhile since I last felt anything remotely as strong as this - this gnawing feeling of dread and sadness, the consistent, soft fluttering wings of the butterflies in the pit of my stomach.
I am no stranger to these tidal waves of emotions, each and every one threatening to break the dam, each and every wave smashing and battering against this thin veil of which we have aptly named it our Sanity; the true meaning of the word disguised as a tool to shield of ourselves of this rage of feelings. The soundness of the mind is non-existent.
Do you ever had days you felt like a stretched rubber band? The painful stretch, the period of time that seemed to stretch longer with every minute, the strain on you a temptation to give up, to give in and snap back regardless of the repercussions.
Those days seemed to stretch into days, into weeks, and into years. I never had the intention of making you mine - everything seemed to fall into place, the days I chased you relentlessly, the chain of messages and letters we used to give one another through the nights and special occasions.
For awhile, it seemed too good to be true. In fact, it never seemed real to me. Everything was so surreal, so unrealistic, but yet there was no doubt, a sense of happiness in everything we did. Everything was perfect, the sun shone brighter, the wind blew harder, and the birds sang, whenever you were around.
I loved stroking your hair, running my fingers through those thin threads of softness and taking in the scent of it all. I remember the first time I planted my nose into this wonderful curtain, ‘it smells of…water.’ was the first thing I said. Till today, you are the only woman whose hair smells like so, and it never fails to hold my breath, as though trying to capture the essence of it in that one breath.
Sending you home was a pleasure - I could spend more time with you while driving you home, tapping on the brakes every now and then, slowing down more often than I needed to, because every few seconds counted.
I never had the chance to drop you off in front of your house, it was always down Guillemard Road, turn left, then right into a tiny alley, squeezing through the row of cars parked hapzardly on the side, and right again.
That was where I could drop you off, beside your house, and out of sight from your parents and family. It never once occurred to me this was to continue into a long-standing agreement. Honestly, it didn’t matter to me, because I could watch you step safely through the gates and back home.
The journey home was always a long and lonely one. There were times I felt accomplished, and stepped on the pedal so I could rush home to get some sleep before work the next day.
There were times I nearly got into accidents, those that catches your breath and leaves you wide-eyed with sweaty palms, because I was so tired. (I never told you because I never wanted you to worry) There were times too, I simply rolled down the window and sang my heart out to Wonderwall by Oasis. Didn’t matter if passing cars thought I was crazy.
Sometimes, it was a quiet drive back home, music turned down low, the hum of the engines my only companion. These times, my thoughts usually were attuned to you. I had these crazy imaginations of unicorns on lorries, Skittle-covered roads, but one of which stuck around pretty long.
If something ever happened to me on the way back, I would be pretty regretful I never got to send you home, right to your doorstep. Perhaps I could say hi to your parents, perhaps I could have played ball with Romeo, or perhaps I could have walked into your room and stared at the green walls of your room, just for the sake of it.
I would have given anything to walk into your house, into your room, without condemnation from your folks, one more time.
You were very sick one time, and in my haste, I travelled all the way to your house in the morning, and brought you food and soya. But I had to pass it through your bathroom window, at the back alley. I felt like a criminal, a petty thief, but I couldn’t bear to tell you this, because there was nothing you could have done. Every now and then, when I turned right into the alley, the feeling still lingers. Maybe it will fade someday, maybe.
There are so many things I want to tell you, but I have realized I cannot. Sometimes constant reminders only are as effective as snooze alarms - you take notice, but you stall for more time anyway. And nothing is done about it, till the next ring.
I consider myself a very watchful guardian of yours, a secret pledge I might have scribbled somewhere on a notepad long ago, to make sure you stayed safe, and no one out there to hurt or cheat you. That might have made me seem like the most unfriendly partner on the planet, but hey, everything comes with a price.
But what can I do if you voluntarily put yourself in harm’s way, and refuse to listen to me? I can dispense my usual prescription of advice, stories of my own experiences, but at the end of the day, it’s your call. It always has been.
I might not be able to pledge myself whole heartedly to support your decisions, but I will always watch over you, look after you, and of course, pray that God help that poor soul(s) who thinks you are easy prey.
My mind is filled with so much thoughts, junk and irrelevant mental mail, I can hardly comprehend what my fingers are churning out. Just one of those days standing in the running shower, eyes shut tight and fists clenched against the cold polished wall was a remedy. I feel like a rubber band, and for the first in a long time, the snap back feels imminent, dangerous, and thoughtless.
With much love,
M.
