That Thing
When you met That Thing, it was love at first sight. There’s no better feeling than thinking about it, admiring it, loving it. Why, the very dreams of life were That Thing! You embraced it, it embraced you back, and you felt like one. And then, something happens. It always does. It’s called Time. It passes. It always does. You cannot focus and love one thing all the time, for a long time. And then, one day, you revisited That Thing, and it’s gone. It’s left. It’s not there anymore, and the only thing that remained was its shadow and maybe a lingering outline in the air.
And then, one day, you meet That Thing. You meet it on the road, unexpectedly, and you’re overjoyed. You say hello but shake their hand instead of embracing them. And then, you realize that their clothes have changed, and they smell different. Their hairstyle has changed too. But most importantly, they hardly recognize you. They’ve forgotten you. And you laugh and remind them of the fun things you’ve done together, and they laugh too, hollowly, and with a tinge of confusion on their face.
And then, you move on the road. You pick up your pace. Somehow, the feeling of meeting them is worse than if you’d never met them at all. How unexpectedly expected. You are sick, and your spit is bitter in your mouth. You walk and breathe, and the sky and the road spin around and around you. You love this thing, and you loathe this thing. You stumble on, step after step, and you want to sleep.
Then you find a tree—a thick, beautiful, ancient tree. Its bark is smooth and its leaves are lush and green. You touch this tree, lean on this tree, sit by this tree. You love this tree. Somehow, this tree consoles you. In its cool shade, you’re sheltered from the dusty, sunburnt road and bitter spit. And the rustling of its branches in the wind is so spontaneous and oblivious to the world that you too feel spontaneous and oblivious to the world. You fall asleep. And you forget That Thing.
