My mobile phone remained stubbornly silent. Messages came. Wasted messages. Words words words, when they come not from the right person, what are they but nuisance.
Time spent alone used to be quality time. This is no more. Walked down a mall, came up to a mirrored column, I saw me greeting myself. Who am I now? A wall flower pinned down. I looked resoundingly lonely and felt so.
You, you have crushed my appetite for privacy and independence; the churning deep down for whatever contact I can get becomes so intense that I need to wash it down with cup after cup of tea and coffee; but there’s still the burning urge to reach out for my mobile, press your number and ask you out – to a dinner, to a movie, or to have a chat only. But then, what good will all these bring? Experience says: None. So I sit poised next to the gadget.
Plus, there are other issues at work. There are undercurrents lurking beneath the seemingly calm sea.
Plus, I trust my eyes, my intuition never fails me. One look at the two of you is enough to remove any doubts about the hissing, simmering affections you have for each other; and who am I to intrude, how possibly can I intrude? I was a pleasant enough diversion, now that she is free and available, it doesn’t feel right to hold you back, though whether her present situation is made known to you I’m not sure. The gathering this week offers an opportunity for me to pry. Make the most of it.
(written on 18 April)
And I finally made the call, having agonized over it for more than a month.
I called just to make sure you were not upset by something I said. You were not apparently, though it’s not as apparent if you -
I kicked myself for not telling you about the film I watched behind your back, for not asking you to another. But your voice alone was enough to knock my senses out.
This is Hyde Park on a Shakespeare’s summer’s day. How I long to get out there and cast off the last thought of you – or do I?
