Laments to the Self : The Young India

Crimson

Crimson’s chain of stories:

Home Truths, Trials of Time, Rambling about the Ex

Something inside me is dying. And it continues to die bit by bit every time you pick up the phone and run me down in every conversation. And yet I count the hours all over again looking forward to your next call. You never flatter me or shower me with compliments; you never ask me how my day went or even remember any of our previous conversations, yet I practically hang onto every word that you utter and relive every conversation in my mind. And then you turn around and lash out that I forget everything you tell, implying that I don’t give enough of myself to this friendship.

For almost a year I have done everything I possibly could do to keep this afloat, while you made flurried entrances and, often erratic, exits out of my life. I saw my calls go unanswered and my text messages yielded no response. I went to bed every night promising myself that tomorrow, I wouldn’t wait for your calls. But that tomorrow never came! Alas, I am still susceptible to your charms.

But my respect for you is dying. My respect for my sense of self is dying. Your behaviour gnaws at my inner being and is eating away into my emotions. But it makes me less selfish. You make me exercise immense patience and restraint with my words – perhaps the only positive aspect of this social exchange. No this isn’t friendship! I feel like your therapist on most days, having to keep aside my own feelings every time we talk.

I thought very highly of you but you disappoint me, not because you fell in love with someone else.
Because you were blind to my emotions.

You had lit a new fire of enthusiasm within me. You made me want to become a better person. But today the flames of that very fire are diminishing due to your untimely silences and the callous responses, if I am lucky to elicit one.

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The Young India

Laments to the Self

on June 20, 2009

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