Almost There

almost gone phrase handwritten on chalkboard with vintage precise stopwatch used instead of O
  • Amal Raju

Her hands slightly trembled as they typed out the message. Why were they trembling, they weren’t supposed to tremble. Blaming it on the cold, she typed the message she knew that she was supposed to, what she was expected to.
Something in her however, felt obstructive, like something was letting her pause, praying for her to stop.
She ignored the foreign feeling and continued typing what she felt was demanding of the situation.
He ended the conversation.
It had ended officially.

The next day, she woke up feeling weird. A heaviness hung within her body, weighing her decisions, her wish for movement and ability to smile. She felt unusually tired, the physical source of which she just couldn’t point out. She didn’t want to acknowledge the true source of her wayward feelings and she tried her best to distract herself – laughed and played with her family when the situation demanded so, wrote, read. A minute alone however, brought back the loneliness and despair and the damn heaviness back again; she thought over and over about the situation, the different ending and scenarios that could have happened. Her head came close to bursting thinking of all the ‘what ifs’, it left her wanting to bang her head against the wall, maybe allowing the pain and the blood to keep her completely distracted.

There had existed nothing to end officially, she firmly reprimanded herself. It left a sting of pain, a brief whisper of something that increased the weight within herself.
Stop it, she screamed at a mental image of him, the only source of anger she could direct it at. A mental image was all that was left of him and that thought, that single thought clogged her throat and her lips trembled.

Christmas, the day of rebirth and new hope. It had left her feverishly hoping and wanting and needing; a message was all she could want for at this moment in her life. Needlessly, she built up the fervent wishing and hopes, knowing they had every chance to burst open, like a flimsy bubble under the slightest of winds.

A slight noise. A vibration. Who knew that the smallest of sounds could invoke the strongest reactions in her heart? It jumped and it beat so fast, so damn fast.
A message had appeared. Merry Christmas, it read. How could a simple greeting spark the longest rays of hope? It ensued in a small conversation.
No. This was not what she wished for. Something was so resoundingly wrong in this. The weight grew.
There existed a stiffness that was never there before. They had become acquaintances, friends who enquired the daily happenings of each other’s lives. There was no more light flirting, no more promises of commitment, no more playful jabs.
One moment had turned them into strangers.
Why did it hurt so bad? She knew it’d hurt, it was the entire reason she had stayed away from giving her all into this. And now? Now, she had messed up anyway, she was now left with a stranger who seemed to want nothing to do with her and she was left broken, a wishing eyelash and nothing more.
She could ask for help from no one, she could share this pain with nobody. She didn’t want to, it seemed too private a punishment, too within her, too much of her fault to do something about it; she welcomed the resonating hurt, the overwhelming emotions, the residual love she had wanted to spread, left orphaned and unwanted and hurt, so bloody hurt.
She was almost there and now she had none.



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