The afternoon sun welded into the odor of my broken heart. It was a Friday, after which the week would suddenly cease to be. Driving across and by half standing flyovers that had been coming up for months, I saw a man. Who wore sunglasses and hovered around a white Honda City and smoked. Who gave me a thumbs up as a negotiated a particularly clingy narrow patch of the road. I didn't know why though, but I completely ignored him. Later I found another a man who held the woman’s hand and helped her cross the road. I halted for them to pass by.
I had got blonde streaks done in my hair, as some kind of a coping mechanism. On Valentine’s day evening. Because I was expecting some big show down from my end. Loud anger, the confession of love, undying passion, and the bitter, the very bitter aftermath of being ignored and unloved. And I thought, a fresh look would help me distract myself. Better and faster. I wanted it to be fast. Because, I had been down that road more than a couple times now. Though I would do it if I just had to, but honestly I would appreciate some decisiveness in the whole fucking process of getting past.
The last conversation was unclear. I couldn't even remember his last words. I wasn't puzzled. Or anything. Or defeated. I was just quiet. Indifferent. Very far away. I don’t think I was even listening to what he had been saying for so long. All that felt like trivia.
I wasn't very sad anymore. Like a numbness had taken over. I know I sound like some bloody teenager when I write this way. But. I wasn't even devastated. Just disappointed. Because I knew from the very first day that I had known him that this moment was waiting, this exact moment when my house of cards will fall into itself. But hadn't ever let myself believe it really would. Therefore, mildly deeply disappointed.
And though I remembered none of his words. I distinctly remembered his tone. It was distant. Had no warmth. And was very unsure. But at the same time, very obvious and matter of fact. I should have hated him for that contradiction. But couldn't. I loved him.
Love comes a long way. From those initial lunges of insatiable insanity. Throughout months, converting into the mild emotion of mundane affection. Then that content complacency of assured company. Which then gradually, very unconsciously ends in, fading out. Into the background. Like it never existed.
It’s hard to imagine though, how could passion be over written by reason. But what can we do. A lot of factors are factored in, in the ignominy of that writing over. They say, distance is a huge one. They also say, you can’t be together if you don’t want the same things. Work, they say takes a huge toll on love. They say a lot of things. And we fall for those things. What can we do.
After home, I went away for an old friend’s wedding. And came across lots of people I had once known. Witnessed, how extraordinary love is celebrated with the most ordinary of arrangements. I heard the vows. Felt them somewhere inside. All of them. And now, despite that lack of warmth in his voice, that wanting different things, the toll of work, all the disapproving people around, and most significantly, despite myself, mine hadn't faded. I have fallen for him, further, by several inches and several feet.