Updated: Aug 30, 2017
Edited by- Kiara Lakdawala
The tranquility of skipping the Monday morning meal, that decreasing figure on the weighing machine;
And then, the now-slouchy shirt that was once my favorite.
The creases on my shirt on the Tuesday afternoon, the hollow decisions of ending this habit soon;
And then, the maturing habit of getting up late.
Coming home on Wednesday evening to a dirty mattress, still not changing it because of the sickness;
And then, the absence of someone who’d look after the situation.
The vile meal on the Thursday night, right before I gulped down the first bite;
And then, the first bite of every meal I have taken.
The project that took the whole Friday night until morn’, falling asleep on the study table with the lights on;
And then, waking up on the study table with the lights still on.
An aching head right before the dawn on Saturday, the absence of the magical fingers that sent the pain away;
And then, the sleepless night left to mourn.
The Sunday morning train to Lonavala station, the awkward silences that filled the conversation;
And then the disturbed conversation routine with you.
The Monday afternoon school dispersal view, the realization of the fact that going back home is no longer coming back to you;
And then the lonely hostel bound walk.
The choice made at the Tuesday evening meet, regarding writing about you for the next newsletter sheet;
And then, writing about you.
Fractions of flashbacks bombard my vision with my mom’s enquiry of whether I miss her.
With the fractions of flashbacks bombarding my vision, I reply to my mom’s enquiry, “I think I do.”