Clenched Oblivion

Hi,
I hate this feeling, I miss her.
Now, I know, I can never have her.
I do really, I understand, but I’m going to think out loud, here goes nothing, or everything.

It’s the little things, you know?

I mean, the very little things that always come back to you. The grand gestures of love, the horrible fights.Your mind copes with them. It’s the idiosyncrasies and the little jokes that keep you awake at night.

It’s much like the ‘hand and sand’ analogy, reversed.

You create a black box, for you to never enter.
With memories, of love and lust. That you want to be oblivious of, you enclose it in your fist. When the days are going well, the sand stays within.

However, when it starts to hurt, when the physical manifestation of your emotional agony claims control of that fist. You fight back and clench it harder, to keep it closed, to protect your ignorance and that’s when it starts to spill, starting with the little things, little grains of sand, trickling from within your fingers almost taunting you as they tickle your calloused palm.

That’s what I’m afraid of! What if this is just the beginning, of the demolition of an oblivion I worked so hard to build. What if the words, “I am over her.” no longer protect my lies. What if the truth spills out, one little sand grain at a time and so do I.

-Aniruddha Ingle