The right time, the right place.

She thought about it a lot, she wanted to let go of the exigent demands of her heart. She wanted nothing more than for it to lie still, for it to not complain. She listened to her head, and her dreams were sandpapered away, slowly, and then all at once. Not even a speck of dust settled. Everything was reduced to nothing more than a disillusioned reality. Life in its pristine form some would say, perfectly imperfect, as it should be. Maybe this is what makes life so interesting, where you’re just inches away from the precipice and all it takes is just one step, a wrong turn, an inadvertent swerve.

These incessant ramblings of her heart and the illusory gaiety with she led most part of her life, proved to be antithetical.

The juxtaposition of wanting to set roots and being free baffled her. It baffled her, to follow set guidelines, to reach somewhere and sacrifice all your life for an unwarranted achievement. It baffled her, to finally reach somewhere, only to start planning out the next big thing, the next big vacation. The destination mania is nothing less than a chronic illness, which is one of the many human obscure tendencies. It’s monomaniacal to think of life as progressive. But day after day, she’s jostling, thriving on a PDF of fifty pages to be tested on a mere two marker question. She’s swirling, like a frail paper on a stormy afternoon, wanting to get stuck somewhere where she’s free(as oxymoronic as it may seem); only to be swirled away again, not on whim, but by force. Not the driving force, surely. 

And drifting within confined spaces is rarely ever fun, you see the same people who talk about the same things. It’s draining, all the lollygagging that you get enveloped in sometimes. And she doesn’t want to be dowsed with flimflam all the time. It makes everything shrouded; like a mountain is by clouds. Therefore she’s caught in a pattern, her life’s modus operandi.

She can’t help wondering how the mind is free to travel to numerous places but still at the end of the day, your heart is pumping blood in the same body, to which the place is immaterial and the experiences, impersonal.  So she perorates in her mind – what if we could stay at the same place and in the same time, and still feel that we’ve learned something worthwhile?

She just wants to put things in their right places, wherever it feels that they’re a little off. Whatever that right place and time is, it has to be undecided. Nothing grand, is all she wants it to be. Embrace it, some would say. She just wants to be her own hero, knowing that only rarely the ground beneath her would be firm.

Flummoxed, aren’t you? She’d say.