A Diffused Place

Weave me within the strands of your dreams. I will encircle them with mine and tinted with promising hues and sunbeams, I’ll carry what is ours always close. I used to tell him.

I tell him. I don’t look at him when I do though-my head leaned on his shoulder, engrossed more on the ensemble of passersby instead. Reclining from the busy set-some hurrying, some ambling, some sprinters and some herding past sluggish chit-chatters- circumambulating the grand white chorten, we post ourselves at the right corner of the grounds of the Memorial Chorten. The corner with grass patches the longest, furnishing us comfort akin to a sofa. That’s what we need. Comfort-for it is the only surest thing we can get at the clutches of our demands and in immediate delivery. Never mind the means. Perhaps that’s what I need. This is ours I think and whilst staring at an Angay prostrate, I hope she prays for me and I pray too- that he thinks the same.

I part ways with his sweaty fingers which were a moment earlier laced in mine as I wave my sweaty fingers in the air. I can feel the lazy breeze wipe away the sweat and he does not rest his head on my shoulder when I lift mine from his. And it isn’t some intuitive, telepathic action between lovers that I was expecting. I owe to my store of us, of our past to expect it. He still doesn’t. Hmm….I fathom he’s feeling a bit sour for not letting him finish what he had to say. I am working this out in my mind in just seconds. Seconds are nothing I realize bitterly, for no sooner did I let go of his hand than he stands and says I’ll be leaving now. A flutter of pigeons land on the ground just in front of us and two weary volunteers at the chorten announce the free porridge ready. Don’t let me have depressing memories of this place. That was just utterly unnecessary-my conscious self must have thought. And it is a second past the twilight brushing away the last of shadows from the pavements around the chorten that I realize he has left.

After a recuperating dose of the saltiest suja, I function normally. I confide in comfort that I gave my all as I do always and as I keep giving.

Weave me within the strands of your dreams. I will encircle them with mine and tinted with promising hues and sunbeams, I’ll carry what is ours always close. I tell him and he repeats the same-with fingers entwined. And also, his head rests against mine.