Woke up with a hefty chest today again. That makes it consistently 21 days in a row of this month.
“Gained some weight again I guess” she sighed. The last she stood on a weighing machine was 9:00 pm.
9:00 am, again the breakfast depends upon the heaviness of her mind and soul.
Get dressed. Walk out of the room. Walk into another room.
Walk out of that room. Walk into the previous one. Get undressed.
7 am to 10 pm.
She has a spinning earth on her table because she studied in school that the earth keeps rotating, it’s an everyday circle.
Was rotating, is rotating, will rotate.
It is already three weeks that her address has changed,
but not the room.
In these weeks she has almost settled to the unsettling thought of the missing spaces in the room.
She has learnt to breathe the air without sharing it, has painted a picture in her head of an empty space, has mastered the art of swallowing words with saliva.
And this day is just supposed to be like every other day of this month.
Got dressed. Walked out of the room.
Walked into the…
She looks back. The path is unchanged.
She looks ahead but the space is out of elements!
where he leaned on and laughed three weeks ago
were repainted to blue.
Blue – “the colour of his shirt”
where he sat and looked at her every now and then
were now of wood.
Wood – “the door of his house”
where he left his belongings for her
were now left aligned
Left – “the constant shadows of tiny objects on the table”
Reformed the room
but failed to alter memories
Her home is still in his eyes.