Maybe one day…

maybe one day

…while I am having a cup of coffee, a movement catches the corner of my eye. You’d walk in, shaking off the rain. Two ticks on the clock, and our eyes meet. I’d give an awkward smile and look back down to my book, pretending to read. Perusing the menu, you make an order. The girl at the counter smiles while she processes the transaction. You head on over in my direction, clutching a table number and sitting on the table next to me.

It’s raining heavier now, I’d notice as the water drumming on aluminium roof intensifies. The slight hustle and bustle, the fragrant aroma of fresh brewed coffee and the slight tinge of nervousness asserts itself into my awareness.

The waitress carries over your order. A steak sandwich… and a pot of tea? Perhaps the next time you’ll get a coffee, time changes things, but I guess I like that you liked tea. You caught me looking, and gave me a smile. I notice the corner of your eyes crinkling in humour. Embarrassed, I shyly return the gesture.

And at that moment, we will both just know. Know it in a way that only we both could know. That it will all work out and things will be how they are supposed to be. No words needed to be said, it would have simply felt right.

I don’t know if these chance meetings will ever happen. If there really is an invisible string that is tied to someone, somewhere, pulling people together in the imminent future. And then reality sinks in. Yes, day dreams are great for hope and inspiration but it sure doesn’t pay the bills.

And even then, maybe, we weren’t meant for anything else. A vision to soothe my tired mind or a temporary thought that brings a smile. Perhaps eventually, someone else will replace my thoughts as I lay in bed trying to fall asleep. Only to be nothing more than a sweet memory to be written in a paragraph in my journal. A note of someone who reminds me to hope and believe that it will all turn out all right somehow one day.

But maybe, just maybe one day…

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Point me home

There will be that one moment in life where one will feel utterly lost – and I don’t mean physically. I meant lost in the sense where one does not know what one should do, where one should go, how one should live. I meant that feeling where one feels dejected, rejected and confused. A bewildering mix of emotions and senses, a feeling of having no ground and not knowing where to go.

 

Well, a rug I’ve been grounded on was recently pulled away from under me. Very strongly and very suddenly.

I was caught unawares.

 

That shocking moment when one feels the cold, bare floor.

The crack echoing in a suddenly empty home.

A sudden moment of realisation and clarity. Of raw heartache.

A flash of pain. A desperate dose of anaesthetic.

A sudden plunge into an unknown road. And no directions.

Just simply, lost.

 

I’m still there, in the dark, somewhere. I’ve stalled even before the first speed bump, and unfortunately, I know there will be many more speed bumps ahead before this road ends. And as always, who knows what would fall out after each jolt of the hard road, what new sores and bruises I’d get.

 

What I do know however, is that no matter how hard you hurt, you have to keep driving. Because really, you’d never get there if you stop to mourn every time you hit a speed bump. No, you make new memories and begin a new journey on a different road. This time heading somewhere safe and warm, a welcoming home.

 

And perhaps one day again, I will also find a better, more secure rug where I’d feel safe again.

 

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