Life things: Crestfallen

What’s coma? It is a state in which body is dead and the brain is alive. Not alive enough to force you to use rest of the body. But it is alive. Now that is the outside perspective. What it is like for me? Oh nothing, I can hear sometimes the outside world. But mostly I’m in a loop. When you are living all by yourself in your own brain you have to create or fixate on a pleasant memory. Something that helps you not go crazy every single time it dawns on you that you are stuck in a dream, in your own brain forever. And no matter how hard you scream, no one will hear, no matter how much you cry no one will listen. And in that tumult of apprehension, when your brain starts to devour the last shred of hope that you have of waking up, it’s at times like those, when that particular memory helps you. Such was the memory for me, of her...

I can still remember it clearly. There was nothing grandeur about it, nothing out of the ordinary and yet somehow captivating. It’s the image of her waiting for me at home. Knowing for sure, that when I go home she will be there. I would simply open the door of my room and time would just slow down. She would be sitting there, her slender self wearing a lose long shirt preferably accompanied by a hoodie. Her soft golden hair, casually hugging her face. Her beautiful face, innocent like that of a child but then could turn into a seductive trap in a moment. Moving of her eyes lashes time to time in a rhythmic motion along with her eyes, just looking at the screen of her laptop, typing something blindingly fast, that sound, serenading me. To me it was no less than a melody. I would then walk up to her and she would take me in her gentle embrace. Something I would feel in those moments, the kind of love she had for me, and that I had for her. We wouldn’t need words in that moment to tell each other of our affection. She was and always will be my sanity.

In this darkness today, when my soul and my body are both withered, just fading and blowing away with the wind, slowly detaching from me piece by piece like do the soft petals of daffodils or dandelions from the stem, I think of that memory, and slowly but surely that moment collects me back in and gives me a new hope.

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