Three times today I picked up my phone, imagining
that it was ringing when, of course, it was
not. Twice I called back, to meet
wrong numbers. Checked my email
more than three hundred times in the last
one month. Every time, I know nothing
is going to change. I imagine you
calling, and remonstrating- but
it never seems to happen. You know, times are pretty
difficult
when your loves live inside your head. I wait for you,
at the end of a very long, white painted corridor, with
thirteen doors between you and me- too many
exit options, I believe, and I would
walk towards you, if not
forbidden- just to improve my odds. But then,
there are these walls, and you, and…
I would not walk across a passageway, you
would not walk beyond a tree. This rain in which I stand
is this real or imaginary? Does this wet you too? Do
you also stand in the balcony with open arms, when
thunderclaps shake this world?
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