Plateau of a Week

It’s been a week. And sometimes I thrill myself with how okay I am. Others, I’m a memory away from falling apart. I don’t want to lose you, but I simply don’t know how to be your friend. You called, and the song played, and my heart- involuntarily- skipped a beat. Old habits die hard. I wish my heart followed suit. Days pass, and I wonder if you miss me, like I miss you. Could you possibly? You don’t know how to be my friend either. It always turns to something more. I wish, quietly and much in vain, that today would become the day before and everything would be as it was. But, does that not mean that tomorrow would never come? No- it doesn’t. It is inevitably evident to all others, but my heart. My heart…

It clings to you like a small child wraps around its mother’s legs, possessive and unapologetic. It claims you as its own, as it has been accustomed to your presence for too long now. It molds itself to every memory, every physical trait, every little bit of you that is left within me. I try to fool it- pacify it with warm thoughts of summer and happiness. But all it senses is your absence, not altogether removed, but not in the place you’ve always been. It’s running, full-force, towards something the mind knows is only a mirage. But, that’s the thing about the heart; it doesn’t care about appearing foolish or vulnerable. It just wants what it wants, regardless of the damage that could occur as a result. Maybe we could all take a lesson in love from the part of us that knows it best.