Everything is Chemistry

Ten years ago, I decided to start pouring my heart on this blog. I've always used this space to vent, introspect or simply complain about mostly unfair boyfriends or events. Sometimes I look back and giggle, most times I cringe. It's good that I can do both of them sometimes.

"I've got to show you something", he said, "someone's going on a Cruise!". 

I squint to get a better look at the view on my screen. Pixels appeared, constantly rearranging themselves to form a digital impressionist frame of a dockyard with blinky lights. "I wish I were a part of your first cruise trip", he sighed and looked away. There were many things to do, places to go, things to talk, kisses to be given, life had lots of plans for them, at least they believed so. 60 days seemed to be a long journey.

"When you come back, I'm not letting you go", he used to say. "If there is a road for us, it starts with your coming home". I often find myself wishing I were around him, we'd have tea in the evening, go for a run, I imagine our dog running with us. We would mostly live on the sea-side, it would never be a boring sight, sometimes we would sneak out at mid-night and walk on the shore, the waves teasing our feet with their constant kisses to the land, we would look at the stars and thank the universe for bringing us together. Sometimes he would be in a mood for a long drive, these would make me squeal in delight because I'm going to be listening to his favourite numbers with him explaining his favourite verses and I would look at him thinking he'd make such a wonderful grand father. He'd catch me phasing out but I'll remind him that I know this is his favourite verse and I'll never be bored of his story. Sometimes we would listen to a song that would remind him of his first girlfriend, he has a special place for that experience, I nod and watch his eyes trying to focus on the road, but internally reviewing the reel of the relationship. "I would have liked her", I would tell myself at that point.

"I'm not gonna let you cook alone", he said, "we never let Mom cook on weekends." I made Aloo Parathas when we met. He watched me make them without a break, he slowly put a piece into my mouth while I was shuffling between kneading and tossing. I would have made Parathas everyday in return to that piece, had we lived together. He had eyes that twinkled and sometimes they looked deep into mine, often blurring the screen between us. 

"Come back, I need you here" he said, "I'll make you happy and healthy". I know he's right. I need him. And he needs me. "Goodnight", I'd say, "See you tomorrow". 

The screen fades, suddenly I'm aware of the walls around me, blue curtains that blind the swiss mountains, peace that's hard to reach and a bed that hosts your dreams each night. 

59 days don't seem to be an easy journey.