Friday, February 06, 2009

broken shells

I turned in my bed and tried counting sheep again. I have been doing this for the past three weeks. I need to see a doctor I guess... or this might very well turn into some complicated form of insomnia... that is, if it already hasn’t done that. I was always a light sleeper. Lights and noise were enough to keep me up for hours. But these days, the house is dark and quiet. It is the loudness of my thoughts that makes me an insomniac, or on the verge of becoming one.
Soon... I say to myself... soon...


I saw him for the first time in the railway station. And somehow, my eyes just lingered on him. It was not because of the ‘electricity in the air’. It was just because he was tall, very tall. And he hefted the big bag he had so easily... I am sure all the girls in the station were staring at him too. And my fervent prayers were answered the moment I sent it up. He sat in the coupe where I was. I glanced at him shyly... on and off... He was reading ‘Fountainhead’... my then favourite. And no, it was not fate. I certainly don’t believe that.
We started speaking somehow... I don’t remember how it started. All I know is that we ended up talking for hours, and I did feel a connection with him... we ‘vibed’ well together.


He had gotten down in the night to get me some water. The train started moving and he hadn’t noticed. I shouted... He ran behind the train, and was almost on the last step when he slipped.


I can’t live with myself anymore. Soon... I tell myself...soon. I’ll soon gain the courage to kill myself for killing him.

Broken shells

So thin the layer was, I shivered
So much that my teeth fell off
And I was turned into this old lady
I stared at myself in the mirror
Stared at this apparition
A shell of who I was once upon a time
I grew old
And saw the crack on the shell
All that I had left
Of this me... who was once more me than me...
The cracks frighten me...
But I am a realist
I have learnt to accept them
As mine own
As me... may be more me than I ever was...