A minute and a half

She typed her fire statement in bold with her deep black ink pen onto the white crisp sheet of paper she snatched from under her latest reading book. That was the statement in her mind which brightens her eyes, makes her leave everything she is doing and get to writing it all down. The fire statement put another bomb line for her to proceed into a river full of words that she maneuvered across a path to the ultimate sea of understanding. She has a quick realization. She has left her food prep for dinner at the kitchen table and her dedicated husband in the living room without giving any notice of her downpour coming. She checks her watch. A minute and a half later he is at the door of her study and asks her the question she hates. ‘What are you doing here?’

woman-writer1

Now our madam is so used to a life of her own and her own times of motivations and movement, it was always a challenge to explain what she felt, why she felt it at that exact time and why she found it so precariously important to forget everything and get it done.

At the same time, her last 5 years had been steadily stabilized and pushed into the routine she dreads and runs away from by her ever loving and a complete opposite lover. He was too innocent for her complex and smart brain to deviate her from all the drama she created to avoid settling down into a domestic life with him. His innocent questions at her attempts to break up the relation logically, her disappearance into distant places for a day or two with no trace and her flared anger at physically pushing him out of her spectrum were the things he responded to with such a sensitivity it forced her into guilt.

She had not given up these vicious attempts, she had learnt to be easy in her reactions as none of the forceful things worked with this one. He just grew stronger in his hold of her but like the water that takes shape of the vessel it is in. She had no defense beyond his surrender.

Yet, time and again the free soul inside her tested his abilities to hold her without her consciously choosing to do so. Quite simply that is how her life had been. Alert, fierce and swooshing around like the wind out of the grasp of anyone who tried to hold her and name her as a form. She was formless, but she loved to stay with a simpleton sitting on the top of a mountain enjoying his breeze as it floated by. Her only place of solace. Her security. At times, when he entered her room to check on her, or the fact that he could not leave her alone more than a minute and a half, intrigued as well as irritated her.

As she toyed the idea of answering his question with utmost honesty or the best possible lies she could tell, she smirked at his naivety. Her imagination went ‘Do you have to always know what I am upto and follow me. Don’t you understand I need space?’ and break his heart for a day and a half, essentially giving her the space she required to create what she wanted. OR ‘What if…’ she thought.

She picked her heavy black nibbed pen, smiled at him and called him over to see if she had penned down her thoughts about this space a woman craved for, well enough in these first two statements.

His naive mind would seize the opportunity and suggest her 8 to 10 things she could better, which is when she retreated to her desire for her day and a half of silent space again.

 

Pic Courtesy: /brainsnorts.files.wordpress

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