PROLOGUE
Sometimes you sail through life, you live and feel. And then on an autumn night you realise you reflect more than you live, life has churned you into a mirrorball. A shiny mirrorball intricately built. And all this time what you thought was yours was actually everybody’s. And now when a single piece of glass breaks, there is a scar irreplaceably yours, yours to keep. And you spin but only shine when there is light flickering in the room. Your reflective glass too gets engulfed into the darkness which surrounds you. And lastly, you are just a mirrorball who is trying very hard.
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Enchanting, a word best described by rosy cheeks and fireflies, or maybe butterflies because that is the right word chosen for us. Feelings and animals are really close to each other isn’t? You are in love; you must have butterflies in your stomach or might as well have the whole zoo. You did not study for a test, you start doing monkey business.
But this love is not unconventional, not unordinary. It is what love was to me. A very regular or in other words clichéd kind of a love. A love where you see the good, the good side of the bad and the good true. A blush which creeps on your cheeks and then seeps in your throat then evaporates out of your eyes. A love shared between two as cannons are shot around you. And sometimes you are caught in one of the cannons, and it blows off. KABOOM!
As I see the blurry car headlights, I realised I entered this phase of sonder which comes unconsciously to me, without a warning of arrival or departure, which makes me noticeably sad. As my phone buzzes I look around for hope, I meant a cab. Started having drinks with some colleagues after work. It was a good week. I remember being young, I gaped out of the windows whenever we were travelling. It seemed like I was searching for something, I laugh when I realise this. But it is true; it surely does look like I am searching. This habit still has the best of me; I gape at strangers, read banners, and re-read them. Gape at the same sights and scenes at the end of the day, the road to my house does not change. Hundreds and millions of faces and whispers, enough to make a country bumpkin lonely. Sometimes I smile; naturally, I smile when I look at these thronging streets and multiple faces and feel familiar.
But love comes to you time and again, and it comes to you naked when you are not looking. It is a secret, but love is afraid of perverts. And when it arrives naked, you will feel you never knew love, like it was never tasted. Like you never felt its flesh and hot blood against your small tensed clutches, grasping it. And then one fine dawn, you realise it never came to you. It has always been a part of you; it just needed the right body heat to melt. It needed the right smell of which it is deficient of, to be aroused.
I seek mountains and endless skies, endless shades and naked feet. Curvy roads climbing onto it, dim lights which cannot overshadow the surrounding darkness, acquaintances, family, a bucolic world. In other words a mirrorball so small that it can’t reflect, a useless mirrorball. With body heat and no cannons, no sky rise expectations, no horizons of time and travel. Because we are only humans, we can defeat humans not horizons. I wanted to be happy and untold.
As I climbed off the cab I realised it is already eight, which meant it was eleven – thirty there, and I had thirty minutes to call him before he gets too old.
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