Comer Spring

She didn’t want him to come. She never expected he’d. But he did.

She didn’t want to feel what she felt, but he insisted, persistently. And, she did.

It terrified her, the intimacy words would create. It scared her, the feelings he would generate. She was in a happy place, all by herself. Her walls were too thick to bear a crack, too high to make the leap. But, that day, his steps worried her, advancing towards her heart. He came as the wind last night, unreported, unexpected. She could see the walls cracking down. She could see the beast lurking from a distance, the beast of her inglorious past. She had bolted the doors from inside, but who could’ve stopped the wind from seeping and blowing a whisper, “I am here“. She was left aghast. Was it her own mind speaking? Or had his voice taken over hers?

She warned, “I am the Impassive Frame who locked up the mechanically beating, fist size, blood pumping organ with the glands that secreted nuisance into living beings and lost the keys forever. Don’t step near, I bring deluge.

Those words were meant to keep him at bay, but he had already forged his way in. Those words were meant to caution him of the havoc that she is, but he refused to see the signs. Was it she who was in denial? Or, was it he?

I guess, we never figure out answers to some questions, and, maybe we should just leave it at that. She knew what letting down those walls did to her. She knew what hurricanes she had tried to distance herself from. She didn’t want it to repeat, again. She was tired of building walls of sand, she was tired of living a lifetime worrying about another beast crawling in. She had put the guards up, but her esteem was pulling down.

She had asked him to go, but he never left. He had asked her to trust, but she couldn’t believe.

It was a good thing that she never believed when he said, “I am unlike others”. It helped her to accept what she already knew. Being cynical helped her make her peace with reality. However, the expectations were real. When he said, “I’d be what none of them had been”, she expected something more than just a mimicry of her past. If anything, at least, he had set high standards for overcoming her trust issues. What broke her was that he had promised  he would fix her, when she knew she never would. Now, in retrospect, it just seems like a love affair of integrating enough to disintegrate her, again.

She is scarred now, forever.

He had etched himself upon her in diurnal ink.

He made sure there’ll never be a clean slate,

never a blank canvas.

The baggage she now carries

is a gift from her past.

But the burden is getting too heavy

as the times last.

Sometimes, in her late night musings,

she wonders if there’ll ever be a fresh start.

 

Let come the comer spring, if there is one.

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