"I've lost it.!!" she screamed.
"I've lost it and I can't fucken find it.!!" even louder this time. I looked at her with half-awake eyes and a disinterested belief. This was all too familiar and one that I had invariably and voluntarily desensitized myself from.
I propped myself on one elbow and stared at her standing by the bed with a disheveled look and eyes wild as fire. I knew she hadn't lost it but as is the case to each, their 'missing's' are more profound and vast than for the world.
"Look under the rock's or between the waves. Listen to the birds or the laughter from beyond. Maybe even smell the smell of happiness or sadness", I said as I crawled upto her stony posture. She looked back at me with vacant eyes devoid of the fire which had burnt so vividly only a few moments and much of our life together. This caught me off guard. Whenever we got lost, this was what brought us back but not anymore.
Something was definitely amiss here.
I knew it was important to breathe, to sit and to calm down. What I couldn't was to make us do exactly that. Sometimes, the body just has to follow a different route as against the mind. This looked like one of those times.
We did eventually breathe and we eventually calmed down but not before the heavy pall of acceptance had descended upon us. It was missing and there was not a clue to be found on how to find it...
Note: I have heard somewhere that a truly great writer doesn't just write the tragedy around him in the most eloquent way but in fact does that and yet manages to show the glimmer of hope to the reader. That, it was said is the sign of a truly great writer.
"I've lost it and I can't fucken find it.!!" even louder this time. I looked at her with half-awake eyes and a disinterested belief. This was all too familiar and one that I had invariably and voluntarily desensitized myself from.
I propped myself on one elbow and stared at her standing by the bed with a disheveled look and eyes wild as fire. I knew she hadn't lost it but as is the case to each, their 'missing's' are more profound and vast than for the world.
"Look under the rock's or between the waves. Listen to the birds or the laughter from beyond. Maybe even smell the smell of happiness or sadness", I said as I crawled upto her stony posture. She looked back at me with vacant eyes devoid of the fire which had burnt so vividly only a few moments and much of our life together. This caught me off guard. Whenever we got lost, this was what brought us back but not anymore.
Something was definitely amiss here.
I knew it was important to breathe, to sit and to calm down. What I couldn't was to make us do exactly that. Sometimes, the body just has to follow a different route as against the mind. This looked like one of those times.
We did eventually breathe and we eventually calmed down but not before the heavy pall of acceptance had descended upon us. It was missing and there was not a clue to be found on how to find it...
Note: I have heard somewhere that a truly great writer doesn't just write the tragedy around him in the most eloquent way but in fact does that and yet manages to show the glimmer of hope to the reader. That, it was said is the sign of a truly great writer.
