nothing much but it's still precious

as the title suggests, what am ranting out here is actually nothing much but a bunch of thoughts that could not be shared with a single being i call my own, but desperately needed an outlet, which is why am putting them here.
been a while since i wrote and even longer since i actually sat down and made an attempt!

today a statement that i encountered made it imperative that i write here, because looks like am finally gonna get the freedom and space i fought for and now am not sure i want and hence my sole way to express will be this.

seems a little lonely and pathetic as well, this, writing for me to see and me to read and me to understand and empathise, but this is the best there can be, if i want to respect me.
to ask of someone to listen, to share with me my life, to understand and feel the way i do about me
is too big a risk to take and coward that i am this nagging silence is company enough.

this story of me, as crappy as it is, is still precious and at the same time something which i want to share but cannot for the fear of chains and bonds, if not rejection, and also for the basic lack of an audience who i can count on to value this enough and also the audience that i can value enough.

so sad as it seems, to wait is the only option i get to choose, for the audience i want i cannot yet decipher but am sure is not the one i have.

the exodus that has begun now causes me to wonder on the fate of two things,
1 will new winds come in to take the place that is empty or will there be vaccuum
2 is the departure really for true and is it the finality, or is life truly too long and will there be a chance not too long from now for which this vaccuum needs to be exist and no new winds should be allowed or should life move on in another direction and cease to hope the wind to turn back in this direction?
do i wait as well as move on, that is keep the space vacant and still build other bridges and bonds
or do i move on and away, looking back once in a while but never stopping to clean the dust and rebuild bonds of old
the first option would leave me hollow and the second sad,
both clearly display the want, but which is right and which is wrong
the threads are all muddled up in my head
and all because i do not have that single ONE being i call my own
but to call my own do i have me at all or is this too an illusion like everything else?

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MY AUTO-BIOGRAPHY 437

and as I got closer to the counter, it just got more pronounced, the leading moments that brought me today to my life’s climax, the pressure of appeasing a fury that hell does not possess, the fury of a woman, never been scorned..
as has been the unwavering dictum of my bountiful, curvaceous life, there it stood in front of my Oracle like eyes, something that I had for the first time forgotten to foresee, in all its unassuming glory, the cracked, bent, blunt edged, mute testimony, the “HOUASE PHUL- whit,blak, all selled” board.

So amazing, how a paan inked, ash decorated piece of cardboard, can be a loud changing lanes signal, that again a sensitised urban rule following God believing man like me could be blind to..

Even before fact or the ingenious spelling could get translated to untold joy of the unexpected blessing, in that split second of bliss devoid of complaints and foreseeable tantrums, even before the moves that would let me flee to freedom were properly planned, my overloud attaché on the arm wailed loud enough to express the pain of all the other queue members and overwhelm them away to seek other options for their special weekend evening, while she like the Rajdhani came up with ours.

Then when reality finally managed to make her whining presence felt and destroy my moment of silent revelry, I found myself already being manoeuvred with the aide of a blubbery arm, this time squeezed up between my own inconsequential bicep filled out arm and a highly threatened ribcage, towards the car park to take up the pole position all over again.

Then amidst shrill blasts of what you honeybun should not have done, not today at least, and while all those lists of special attributes that made me ME, and hence perennially faulty, the all too familiar brainwave of lets-go-walking-on-the beach was announced to a fumbling searching me, partly to loosen and extract her hold, and honestly searching for the keys, at the corner bend was waiting my link to the present.

Like in the typical turning point in the movie that we luckily didn’t see, kaboom and I crashed unknowingly, uncomplainingly with a soft somebody.
This is why I had earlier made a point about a woman always hitting us poor stronger gender hard and literally for me, as the one on my arm fell down flung away and I came down and tumbled after like jack, but with jane in my arm, and was met by the first most heart warming frown.

While in the jolt of the collision, a hairy forearm was let go in search of other follicles, from an oversized purple-veined upper arm, another grabbed a waist. As expensively parlour cared hair got rudely fussed up, nature’s most well thought out position, Man on the Top, got carried out and finally the evening’s climax was brought about...