Life has a way of throwing you a curved one when you think everything is all set for an easy home-run. Deep inside I know I am grasping at straws to stay afloat. This is me letting off steam… not wanting to explode all over the place… and so today on this blog I vent in a controlled manner.
How do I move on… when I am in a relationship with the right guy at the wrong time? When my future with him is a blank with nothing to fill it with… When my present is a struggle I seem to be losing… a fight to be happy with moments of joy stolen from the time meant for priorities that do not and never will involve me. How do I move on when lost as I am in this sea, he is my pole star? He fills my sky. I see nothing between and beyond his brilliance. I swim towards him… and he retreats away from the horizon… forever unattainable. How do I move on when my heart is still warm from an endearment he uttered ages ago? When he first held my hand, it wasn’t a tingling feeling that coursed through me… no first blush of love… but a surge of power, of confidence to take on this world… and a sense of security that he’d stand by me forever. His kisses as rare as midsummer snow, they sent through me an electric pulse that melted my chains, disintegrated my inhibitions and made me look at the world through the eyes of a woman. How do I move on when I am still his girl, but not his woman? He brings out the best and the worst in me… but he brings me out. How do I move on now that I am unmasked?
I convince others that my life is perfect… and I ache within… I ache for him to whisper in my ear again the confirmation of the love with which he claimed my soul. How do I move on with so much hurt inside me? Yin to my yang, he and I, we make a perfect circle. How do I move on when no one else measures up to him? I have shed tears for him and been delighted when his face lit up with a smile. I have fumbled and hurt him and fought with him and then cried and made up. How do I move on now when my cheeks are still wet with tears?
Tell me… how do I move on when every fibre of my being refuses to let go? How do I move on when he would not move on?
These winds of winter… they are robbing me of my spring.
© Surya Murali