I open my digital diary to write my thoughts in
It takes a long time to load, reminding me it’s time to begin
a new word document; like I used to do before, when she was still around
every now and then, I would conclude an old doc and a new doc would be found..!
I would call it “turning the page”.
But now I can’t bring myself to turn anything
as if my heart refuses to have a new beginning
I write wrapped in the security of the old document
The file hangs; it’s too big, I face a predicament
It pleads I close this chapter and begin again, afresh, anew and such
I balk. I will carry on living in the same sentence, thank you very much
I fear a comma maybe safe, a semi-colon may do, but a full stop – that’s dangerous!
Carrying in it the threat of a new sentence, a new paragraph, a new page – and that’s serious!
A new page takes me further
and farther away from her
So. I can’t turn the page.
Writing in the document that began when she was still near
feels like living in the same house, the same city, at least the same hemisphere
As her.
I imagine us living on Broadway, both of us
She uptown, I downtown, I could take the train or the bus
And even if no train or bus would take me to her place,
there is at least a straight, known path to her space
I would walk
And if no walk could cover such distance,
To take me to the meaning of my existence
I can still believe our new addresses share the same street name
Starting a new page, a new doc would be so lame
It would be like turning a corner or moving on, to another street
then another, and soon, any odds of running into her would be beat.
The doc hangs again, I cross my fingers
The hourglass lingers
But No. I can’t turn the page.
Swati is a sister, storyteller, a filmmaker, an environmentalist and a first generation immigrant to the United States. She can be reached via Linkedin and swati@TiredAndBeatup.com