Dementia

Everlasting latitude. This was exactly what I had been looking for, for the past six years. And lately, I had been engaging rather irrationally in my this pursuit. My trivial stint must have surprised him, if surprise could be a euphemism for absolute shock. An absolute early morning shock. So much so that I could have looked like a continuation of a dream, with bags in hand, banging his door just when dawn broke. He was half asleep when he opened the door for me, hair disheveled, breathing in between yawns. But not a question was asked.

We hadn't talked for a week or so. And such a thing happens often, no one needs to give an explanation to anyone. Though it had been enviously long, we had never cared to sit down and define our relationship. Draw the lines we would promise to stay inside of. No, we hadn't. He had tried once or twice, not in my fair recent memory though, but I remember him having tried. Like making an attempt to give it a name, make me meet his friends at least, if not parents. But I wouldn't let a thing this holy happen, ever. I was against anything that would make me grow roots, even in the places I loved. So the we kept it on and off, mostly the latter. I would tend towards being a philanderer of the immoral sorts, but somehow at the end of every single fling or romantic get away or soul shattering heartbreak, I would find my way back to him. Tell him my story, watch him watch me sob. Believing that I could never be able to gather myself, yet learning to rise from shambles.

Something that had always surprised me was how alive I became everytime I met him. Never as conscious as then, never as enlightened as then, and that is not an overstatement. So much so that I had begun to take it for granted, finding him at every turn of the road. And this was the reason why I couldn't draw those lines. Love would make me blind with passion, he never did. He opened my eyes rather. So it couldn't be love. I had supposed it to be platonic, but that it wasn't entirely that, we both knew. Ours fell in no mans land. Hence the dearth of lines.

But this was a big leap. Moving in, living-in. I didn't know what was expected of me. Is it time to draw those lines yet? I stood in his apartment, and thought so. Would poaching eggs early morning, groceries and laundry would be it? It? The end of the pursuit of everlasting latitude. I leaned out of his thirteenth floor patio, feeling slightly demented.