Spaces

We lie on the open road, the sky overcast. 

Remember we used to talk about this, about how peaceful it will be; how surreal it will feel.

There isn’t anyone in sight. Not even a stray dog. No lone traveller with a backpack; just you and me, and the humbling feeling of looking up into infinity.

You wrote me a letter once. You spoke about the open road. You said you’d take my hand in yours. You said that would make you happier than anything else. You promised me stars on a dark night and the sound of the wind in the trees.

There isn’t so much to say and nothing to do. We make small talk; not the kind that is made to ease awkward situations, not the kind that is made to impress. But in fact, the comfortable variety, where our words potter around making smoky circles in the night air and we think aloud about nothing in particular.

There were many things we said we’d do. Cycling in the rain, steaming momos in the North Eastern cold, walking in an empty street in the wee hours of the morning. Are these things all of us say at some point because they create some kind of subtle magic? If we did have cycles and it did rain on a certain day, will we actually go cycling?

We fall asleep next to each other. The sky just hangs there. We are just two tiny specks and our thoughts and feelings affect or alter no one. In the cosmic scheme of things, we are nothing. You always said that. Perspective and reality all in one happy package.

On many a rainy day, I find myself sitting in your room, listening to music I am not sure I understand but don’t quite mind. There is this funny thing called contentment. As long as you get there, it doesn’t matter whether you cycle to it or walk lazily, jumping across puddles.