Him and Me

My brain is taking one thousand revolutions every second, I am trying to juxtapose my thoughts, my intention of putting my thoughts in order is simple- I want to write, different, yes something different from what usually sprouts in my very busy brain but with my brain making not so graceful summersaults every second, writing seems as difficult as climbing Mount. Everest would be.

 Yes, writing is a tedious task, especially when your mind wanders around, visits the Titanic at the bottom of Atlantic Ocean one minute, the other reaches Saturn, wondering if alien babies play on it’s rings. As I am typing word after word, not exactly knowing where this is headed towards I am going to write about the first thought that comes to my mind as I finish typing this sentence.

“You are the corniest and sappiest girl I’ve ever met. You are the most confused and naïve person I have ever come across” yes, this is what I am thinking about, some one said this to me once actually he says this to me every day but he uses different words, his vocabulary is pretty commendable. Let me not mention his name, I am sure if he reads this he will gloat, he is the kind of person who gloats especially when he serves truth to me straight on the rocks and that’s what I like about him, I don’t scare him, most men for some reason are scared of me, they think I am Medusa, or some dragon that breathes fire or he is a master of deception and can easily not show what he is truly feeling.   Mentioning his name would mean giving him immense importance and my ego which is thrice the size of Asia, would not appreciate it at all; it is already frowning as this is going to be about him. I would like to refer to that person as Him, Him is his new name, my ego is already praying he never reads this, even if he does, we both hope, me and my ego that is- he will never mention it.

Him, what is it about Him, that is making me write this, as a reader you may ask. Truth be spoken, I don’t know the answer. I have a lot of this might be the reason why answers but I am not sure. May be it’s  his boyish smile, the mischievous grin he has on his lips when he says no to everything I ask for- whether it be a candy or a movie, may be the twinkle (it might be manifested by my imagination) I see in his eyes when I smile at him and laugh at his stupid yet witty side comments, may be because he thinks I hate him, and I know I will never tell him how much I like him even when I know I might not see him again and writing this is the only way to gather my scattered feelings. I have never written for and about any one, this is a first, I want to write because I know he won’t care, won’t make an ounce of difference to him, he won’t flicker an eye lid if I tell him I grow fonder every day and lose myself even at the mention of his name, he won’t say a word and that will hurt, I can already feel the pain piling on top of my heart.

Him is not as tall as me, I say this with a smile on my face, I have big eyes, he has small eyes, he is fair, I am brown, he doesn’t care, I care, I think about him almost everyday, he doesn’t, he is witty, he says I am not, he says I am such a foreigner, I say yes I am, he reads, I read, when he looks into my eyes, I shy away, he tells me I don’t trust him, I tell him I don’t but leave out the part “I want to trust you”, he and I are from different planets, at times his bitter words pierce my heart, but I just smile, he doesn’t care, so I don’t tell him how I hurt when he doesn’t care, he always puts up a show, wears a mask to cover his vulnerabilities, I open myself like a book, turn the pages of my life and read it to him, he makes me smile, he makes me angry, he hurts me and unknowingly he heals the wounds he inflicts, he will never know and I don’t hate him, I will never know how it feels to hold him or have him tell me which ever road I choose he will go. He is an idiot, he can’t read between the lines, or he is so smart he is playing his own game, whatever it is there is only one thing I know this very moment - I like him

My revolving brain has come to a halt now, I wanted to write something different but here, I end up writing an almost corny letter. He is so right; I am sappy and undoubtedly corny. My ego has belittled itself, I can see my ego sit in a corner with a bottler of wine, listening to Adele, I don’t know why but this doesn’t scare me, I am a writer and writers write best when they write about their or someone else’s story. Here I am wearing my heart on my sleeve, writing, writing about a story, I wish was fiction.