Wrote this sometime back, when I was anxiously waiting for a call. I was told to expect a call, that day, by evening. But the call never came.
. . .
Isn’t it the bitterest of feelings-the feeling of waiting for someone with bated breath? A feeling of hopeful hopelessness where future hinges on the pivot of a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’, ‘this’ or ‘that’, ‘will she’ or ‘will she not’. An impulse that keeps you on the edge, for something to happen or for someone to call. Sometimes, for only a few moments. And at others, as long as an entire lifetime.
Your life becomes standstill, tethered to some distant past, rooted in the wait for someone. Robbed of its colors, robbed of its seasons, dark and gloomy, your life loses its vivacity, and becomes devoid of the little things that made you feel once, made you feel alive, rendering you a castaway stranded on a far-off island doomed to wait for a ship to come –some day, maybe.
In this wait, time also plays with your emotions. The minutes feel like hours, and the hours stretches like days. Your own life becomes an island between the moment to come and the one went by. Every new coming moment singing ode of your beautiful hope, of your hopeful longings, but the one that just passed by, cries eulogies of your unshed tears.
For this is a hope that is a boat without sails. A monsoon without rain. It will keep you guessing, enticing you to look for something which might not be there anymore, in fact had not been there at all, in the first place.
Still, it will not stop, and will keep on fueling the train of your beliefs, pulling forward your caravan of hope.
And in the end, you will be left with a life full of a diminishing hope and an increasing hopelessness, momentary joys and eternal tears -for your days will be spent in her thoughts, and your nights in her dreams, filling your life with sorrow; a life that will trudge along slowly while you your self sit and become a helpless spectator holding on to nothing but the hope for this endless wait getting over, one day. Some day.
. . .