Lately, I have been on a frenzy of bereft and shaken, with my term at its end. There's this swerving amplitude I'm on, with endless wave points, stretching out to form a loose silhouette of all those seconds that won't ever come back. I can't help feeling afar and dreadful.
Beginnings are difficult, I believe. They always make you do things you wouldn't do otherwise. They make you feel the heat of the rostrum at a height enough to make one acrophobic. Everyone and everything looks odd and ugly. You hate it. But soon, you are gathering memories. And then, you realise that like everything else, this will end too. And because it will end soon, you hate it all over again.
Endings are more difficult, I have come to believe. When finally you have a good corner for those years in your 15-inch, your 5-inch, your cupboard, and your heart, you are dropped off at a new station wherein new trains, new passengers, new hopes, new mindtrips await you. You don't want to remind yourself of all those imprudent times, but you do remember it all, and vividly, as the clock ticks day and night. You have absolutely no control over this empty feeling which gives you nightmares of nothing-to-do days and nothing-to-crib-for nights.
You wish you could live it all afresh because you'd do it better this time. Only if that could happen. So there stands the chimera, waving back at you, and you're suddenly wrapped up in the umbrage of the ever-haunting runs to the next Maggi, the hold-ups for the next coffee, the last-minute-panic during the exams, the spilling-the-beans chats in the lecture-breaks, and the chortles and titters thrown in every minute of the day. Makes you go weak in the knees. Makes you gulp your heart. Makes you feel nothing's right, and will never be. Because you don't live in the same world anymore.
I worry the same, and they keep telling me that I'm naive, precarious, a worrywart. That, I don't see the good behind the fog of goodbyes. That, I don't look for opportunities coming. That, I don't wish to change. And, I don't deny. I do tend to lean on to people that I barely know, to things that I just happen to do. I latch myself to even ordinary moments because all of this has been a part. And leaving it behind would dig a hole within. It would fill with time, sure. But time needs time too. Till then, I wouldn't really look forward to moving on as much as I'd look forward to going back.
Beginnings are difficult, I believe. They always make you do things you wouldn't do otherwise. They make you feel the heat of the rostrum at a height enough to make one acrophobic. Everyone and everything looks odd and ugly. You hate it. But soon, you are gathering memories. And then, you realise that like everything else, this will end too. And because it will end soon, you hate it all over again.
Endings are more difficult, I have come to believe. When finally you have a good corner for those years in your 15-inch, your 5-inch, your cupboard, and your heart, you are dropped off at a new station wherein new trains, new passengers, new hopes, new mindtrips await you. You don't want to remind yourself of all those imprudent times, but you do remember it all, and vividly, as the clock ticks day and night. You have absolutely no control over this empty feeling which gives you nightmares of nothing-to-do days and nothing-to-crib-for nights.
You wish you could live it all afresh because you'd do it better this time. Only if that could happen. So there stands the chimera, waving back at you, and you're suddenly wrapped up in the umbrage of the ever-haunting runs to the next Maggi, the hold-ups for the next coffee, the last-minute-panic during the exams, the spilling-the-beans chats in the lecture-breaks, and the chortles and titters thrown in every minute of the day. Makes you go weak in the knees. Makes you gulp your heart. Makes you feel nothing's right, and will never be. Because you don't live in the same world anymore.
I worry the same, and they keep telling me that I'm naive, precarious, a worrywart. That, I don't see the good behind the fog of goodbyes. That, I don't look for opportunities coming. That, I don't wish to change. And, I don't deny. I do tend to lean on to people that I barely know, to things that I just happen to do. I latch myself to even ordinary moments because all of this has been a part. And leaving it behind would dig a hole within. It would fill with time, sure. But time needs time too. Till then, I wouldn't really look forward to moving on as much as I'd look forward to going back.
It's all black in here. And I'm still searching my way down the sneaky walk, with short, really short footsteps, looking for an incredible fix. To cradle it for so long that I'd just forget all about the gloom-and-solace is what I keep hovering over. The realization is plain and hard.
I have always hated the beginning. But today, I hate the end more.
I have always hated the beginning. But today, I hate the end more.
No comments:
Post a Comment