Speaking of Things

A Bottle Of Water

He is in denial, but I know how much he needs me.

We weren’t always like this. We used to be close. We went together everywhere. He couldn’t go an hour without touching his lips to mine… Until Miss Hooch came in his life. And he began to forget about me. More and more.

On weekdays, he slogs at work all day and eats junk with her every evening. On weekends, he prances around the town with her. The obsession is such, nowadays, days go by before he even thinks of me.

He still needs me. More than he thinks he does. More than he knows.

Those excruciating new headaches, those cramps in his calves, that taut skin on his hands, his hair that scratch his face like bristles, the mysterious pain in his gut… Do you think that’s by accident? No sir, that’s her presence and my absence in his life. 

The truth is he misses me. His insides miss me. Terribly. And they will tear at him sooner or later. Unless…

Unless he came back and held me to his lips once again. 

And yes, I can learn to co-exist with his new friend. He will just have to give me back my place in his life too. Only then can his pain begin to wash away…

-A bottle of water.

Speaking of Things

To the hero of your story

I will really start living when I become a published writer…
I will really start living when I get to the Olympics…
I will really start living when I have a baby…
I will really start living when I am 55 kilograms…

Does life really care?
Does death really care?
Does death really care where you are in the story you tell yourself- at the beginning, middle or end?

Your story is only yours to write until the big scriptmasters- accidents and age and sickness and viruses- decide to change the plot.

All you have in your story is only right now.

Speaking of Things

One Time DSLR

Today, it is eight years since she touched me. Eight years since that wondrous time I had with her in Italy- in sunny Bologna and dreamy Venice and blissful Florence. Eight years since I have been out of this dingy corner of her house. Eight long years of waiting for that touch that never comes. My fate is like that of my many friends after all. I am a one time DSLR, single use.

I am old and tired, anyway. Maybe even outdated. She perhaps has a younger model now who clicks better pictures of her. Makes her happier. Probably with him, she has already been to Rio or even Paris…

My time has come. I can sense it. The dark claws of death are creeping on me to take my light away. This dust and humidity is suffocating my insides. No more shutters and flashes and lights and colours…

Wait, something just happened. What’s this. Did someone just touch me? Yes! It’s her. Oh oh, she is picking me up. My eyes are opening…

A baby! There is a new toddler in the house! And you know what that means, don’t you?

Bye bye death, we will meet again another day. I have plenty of work now.

– One time DSLR no more.