She had a quiet morning today, and she’s in no rush. She’s given up her job so that she can run after me, so that she can catch hold of me before I vanish again. After going through her chores, she laid down herself in a warm tub and left her worries behind. A good soak has always proven to be strangely therapeutic for her; but, somehow she needs more than a soak today. Her fears and her insecurities of losing me have been looming so much over her that I wish I could hold her and tell her that I’m here to stay. But I CAN’T.
She gets out of the tub, goes to the shower and braves the cold trickle on her warmed skin. And I see her breaking down. Kneeling down, with her head on her knees and her arms around her, I can see her crying. Her cascade of tears have now reduced to sporadic sobs and gradually, she gets up rubs herself dry and steps out with a smile on her face and a new promise within her spirit.
She dresses herself and then steps out in the sun… she’s always love to do so… the reason that I fail to understand… has it been more of a habit… I fail to reckon so but I firmly believe, that’s the time when she recharges herself with that infectious and ever embracing and ever engulfing warmth.
Sitting in a rocking chair, nestled under a warm throw, she snuggles up with a book in her hand and coffee in the other. I had never seen a woman so blissfully ignorant of all the odd hands of the deck dealt to her. Or is she? I never had this proverbial dull ache when the heart plunges for another. I wish this time as badly as she does to be conceived by her… I want to be given birth… I want to be her anchor…