This space has been getting drier and drier as the minutes and hours and days and weeks and months have passed. I don't know how to fix it. I can't not write what I feel. If I feel dry, then the words come out dry. That's the sad truth.
I have this picture in my mind. Its of a sunset. I'm sitting on the side of the road, as I have so many times, just staring into the sky, and thinking. This picture, its so calm and serene and peaceful. Sometimes I notice the cars that drive past. I follow their headlights from afar until they get close to me. I imagine I know something about the person sitting inside, driving. For a split second, I am a part of their lives and they are a part of mine. Sometimes I see something familiar. Like bobbing heads to radio music. I try to guess the song that's playing. And sometimes I smile at them. Just to see what their reaction would be.
I remember so much. Insignificant evenings. But such powerful evenings to me. Evenings where I got this serenity about my existence. There was no board exam, no homework, no people, no music, no family, no friends, nothing. Its how I feel sometimes when I sit with Shandy, my doggy. I don't know what he is thinking. I dont care what he is thinking. I don't need to worry about lead words and disappointment, no expectations and no past. Complete forgiveness, transparency and silence. It's so tranquil.
There was so much happening around me. I was running on the field, sleeping in class, singing, dancing, drumming, but I always felt unattached. I felt like I would rise like the Sun did every morning, and I would dress myself and go to school and do what was expected of me. Then I left home. Haha.. I thought I was out of the coop. Sleep till noon and do what I wished to. I was out of the coop alright, but I didn't realize that now, there were hawks circling above me, waiting for me to become the obnoxious young disillusioned. And how hard it is to dodge a bullet when you don't realize that you are holding the gun.
It's so tranquil. Sitting alone in this little room right now. Warm and cozy in my cocoon. How I hate to get out of this soft bed. I make a castle of excuses as flimsy as a castle of cards, and I stand inside it, looking up at the walls, waiting for them to collapse. I was never raised to dwell in self pity. How low is that. Yuck.
But I don't want to leave this room. Not to go into that world. That world makes me so sad. Those people, they are so.. so plastic and fake. I see no point. I see no point in crashing this tranquility. Can I just sit here a little while longer please? Two more minutes in bed. Two more minutes in my dreams. Two more minutes with my thoughts. Two more minutes without you.
I've got to wake up now.
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I'm reading Andre Agassi's autobiography. It keeps taking me back to my hopelessly lost tennis days. I remember training. Being shouted at by my coaches. I remember Zeeshan the most. We used to start our practices at the half court line. Playing around, talking about stupid things, the news the weather, Grandslams and such. And then we would make silent blows from the baseline. He used to shout at me. keep your racket closed. Move your feet! Recover. Firm wrist. Eyes on the ball. Follow through!!! He didn't shout that much towards the end. He knew I was shouting at myself silently.I remember being on the tennis court, the silence just before a point. The soft sound of the ball being bounced before a serve. I could hear myself breath in that moment. Collected thoughts, prepared to execute. I remember my heart beat like a steaming train after a point. I remember talking to myself, pushing myself.
It was one of the lightest times. Bouncing on my toes. Sweaty shirts. Weapon in hand, unsheathed and ready to attack. My tennis raquet was like a thing alive, swinging, spinning, swaying in my hand, readying itself.
So many thoughts, so many points and tournaments, so many faces and so many minutes and hours and days and weeks and months.
I cant not miss that.
