Elsewhere | A Lover’s Diary

This, by far—this would be the loneliest imagination that you would come by. On the other par🌳t of the street will await tree-wearing bygone Christmases, stars with empty bellies, and a few faces with no PIN codes.

And this is how—while looking at the bit of the world fallen in your water tank—you will begin to stray. 🎀Under a breezy April sun, you will watch how the sea enters home through your lover’s throat throwing shadows, and fishes, and dusty shoes. Soon enough—your heart would turn into a turtle, risking slowly for your lover’s geometry—with tightness and a semicolon.

By now, she would break her 100-watt silence with a kind of sharpness that only feels safe when placed inside its cover. B🐲ut, in secret, you have memorised the route where it brings a curve on her waist. Your fingers would want to touch the tracks and wipe the signposts so that the pilgrim can never return after he reaches her summit.

The phone in your pocket will begin to go low on battery, and your new pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses will settle into twilight, and so wilﷺl your last active status on Facebook will no longer be seen.

Time will begin to grow old inside your 21 jewels, Seiko—as you reach the end 🙈of each chapter in Orwell’s 1984.

Your lover may not have been the first woman you fantasised about touc𝕴hing. But—each time she refused your progress—she left behind a little of her loneliness.

This is the only bit of excuse you will convince yourself to have—to allow a mention of your lover, all beca🌺use of the kind of softness that your mother has put in you to belong.

And you wa🅠lk away empty—giving the Zebra crossing to The Beatles:

“Somewhere in her smile she knows

That I don’t need no other lover

Something in her style that shows me

I don’t want to leave her now

You know I believe and how...”

April, 2024, Calcutta

Ronald Tuhin D’Rozario writes stories, poems and essays