“I am truly a ‘lone traveller’ and have never belonged to my country, my home, my friends, or even my immediate family, with my whole heart; in the face of all these ties, I have never lost a sense of distance and a need for solitude.” — The World As I See It by Albert Einstein.
The sun had fallen. Pure Crimson sky, streaked by few splashes of blue and violet here and there, and no hint of anything else. My flesh bubbled with goosebumps from the chills that ran down my spine. It was cold. The cold air, gently bouncing over the waves added their own twist to the mercury’s struggle.
The evening was bitter cold.
“I just want us to agree this is part of who we are,” The woman sitting in the chair spoke.
I let the silence stretch, fighting the lurch in my guts and the anger that wanted expression. My mind utterly in distress, the silent war, the emotional conflict raging in my head. The shrill sound of the telephone ringing broke me out of my insecurities.
“For better or worse?” I intoned.
“Then why don’t you tell her that?” She inquired.
“How could I? She possibly wouldn’t understand it, hell, I don’t understand it,” I said, my thoughts emerging from the darkness a little.
“Must feel nice?” She said, her words inviting and engaging.
“Being that stern and confident about something, huh?”
“It has some perks but mostly people think you’re being rude, they don’t like something they can’t understand, you know.”
“How much patience is too much before it starts eating you from the inside? How many hidden truths you can hold before they become lies?”
“You are not a truth, my friend. You are my mistake.”
“How could you say that?”
“You mean to say, all that we had, all that we talked about, the secrets we hid in each other, they all were lie?”
“My whole life is a lie,” I said simply, with no intentions of adding any cryptic metaphor to them.
“That is so like you, running away from confrontations.”
“I’m not running from anything, my friend,” I replied, still keeping my emotions in check.
“You are running away from me.”
“I possibly couldn’t,” my words echoed, and in each one of them, my detachment perfectly evident.
“And why would that be?”
“You know it way too well.”
“I want to hear you say it anyway.” Her words, they always made me feel that way, I felt like I was in heaven and hell, at the same time.
I let the silence stretch. The emotion welled up in me, the one I’d felt and pushed down, buried and denied with all my might, but finally I spoke, “Because you are a fragment of my imagination.”