It was a cool, dreamy Wednesday morning, the kind that made you to miss the warmth of another skin. The air hung still in the dimly-lit room, stretched thin by the irk in our voices.
As long as everything was going on fine, I always had a lot to believe in. Faith came a little too easy. Tomorrow lost that startling hold on me.
But this month’s been all too bleary, almost hopeless, reminding me of how frighteningly close I was to letting things decide for me.
I’d begun to have ideas, the possibility of life staying same without you. Our secrets and memories furtively fading. Time slaming shut the past, as always.
Then some long forgotten part of me, buried deep in the daily routines, had to learn that some persons were so richly and complexly integrated into our lives, shutting them out would mean making huge changes that’d last generations.