It returned as slowly as it had crept away. But this time, it made sure there was no forgetting. It looked like a cycle, bearing similar traits of the results of ignorance and a carefree attitude. I could almost picture it staring with utmost concentration, as its hands worked all it had to offer bit by bit, not pushing it all out at once lest we flinched in response. It had to make sure we felt every moment; absorbed every inch.
What remained of the previous was an imperfect memory; dashes and hyphens here and there that never came together to make a complete line. It was no one’s fault; it was everyone’s fault. We fought it in silence and heart clenching griefs until it became fragments that each of us could hold on to without feeling the full force of its weight over us. We fought hard until we could freely talk about it amongst ourselves without opening the gates to the world of tears. The guilt built itself gradually as we worked on but it was better than nothing.
There remained still a part we couldn’t do away with; a part that no amount of wrestle could erase – the reality of mortality; the consciousness of her absence. We embraced it unwillingly. Life had given us no other option.
This was coming from the same source and seemed to be walking on the same path. I feared, as everything seemed to tremble alongside herself, from the dust free table that bore her other hand as she struggled to get the glass of water home, to the shiny silver spoon that seemed to have its life squeezed out as it mixed together the contents of the plate. Baby steps were taken by one who nurtured us while we were younger. Advices were taken – feed with a kid’s quantity. It all came rushing back; I had feared it would.
Sunken eyes walked me down Dreamland each time the moon came into view and frail limbs attached themselves to me as we tried to find a way out of the dream-created dessert.
Reality stayed the same.
Its plans were working. I could feel the staleness in every moment. It screamed “no mercy”, it sang “no freedom”. It had no plans of leaving.
I dread the completion of the cycle.
I dread the tears that seeped from my face onto the sheets.
Most of all, I dread walking that same path.