It started out as a fantasy but reality, sometimes, is different in space and direction. She was always this enigma who would walk beside me as if she owned her world with me in it and I would agree with her nonchalantly. As we traversed the sticky ground of conflicting thoughts and opinions, we forgot there was a middle ground which was much easily negotiated. I was sorry for how life transpired between us and I called her to say that and more but she had moved far far away to a space of no return. That’s that.

There are times when I’m lost; lost in thoughts; lost in equations; lost in interpretations; but those are the magical times when I get to gaze out of my window and look at the sky. Through my narrow vision, I muster hope from the expanse of the universe. The way I see it, hope is nothing but light radiating from a burning candle. Enough to get you through the day until the next when you would need to trade a bit of your soul to buy another candle; and this cycle continues.

Four seasons have passed me by and I sit on the verge of a breakthrough. I see clearly that universe will hold me by the scruff of my neck and move me where it wants me to go. I just wonder if I will have enough soul left to trade my way through this road. It is not the one commonly taken but I’m partly to blame for not being able to turn back. It happens sometimes that the will and ego are too big to accept failure and they combine to continue the pursuit shrugging away the battles lost as lessons but determined to win the war.

I am a prisoner of my thoughts. I hope to break free some day. Until then, I have to burn the soul to feed to the whims of the universe. I know that the universe is unforgiving and relentless in its pursuit. That I’m a mere pawn at its discretion is something I will use to bargain my way through the maze. I possess a universe of my own and that is my bargaining chip.

She is in the kitchen making coffee. Clouds have set in and rain will be here any minute now. We like walking in the rain. The scent of the petrichor combines with the droplets splashing against our body to restore the life broken away by the incessant struggles. She cries when it rains or may be it rains when she cries. I cannot tell the difference but her silence combines with sound of the rain to pound the soul with beauty; immeasurable, picturesque beauty that signifies the end of one journey and the begining of another.