I've realised I do most of my writing on impromptu text messages to close friends. So I've decided to simply post them here, with a little bit of context. Maybe, it gives the three people who read this some words to feel something about.
Him: Trust yourself Sushruti. And have faith in yourself. I know I do. And things will work out.
Me:
Things will work out.
Eventually.
That's where all faith rests.
And on days I wonder what that place must look like.
I wonder if it's a graveyard for broken dreams or a river catching sun-beams with Tennyson writing me poetry on its banks.
I imagine that one day I'll reach it, and it'll be dark and empty, covered in wet moss from all the years of tears, unspent in the hope packaged for this place.
Eventually.
When I'm drowning, I need to see which way to swim to get to the surface. On days, I wonder if it's this place that beams all my stored sunshine and gets me through.
On days I wonder if sunshine is a finite resource.
I wonder if we ever get there. If in the last moments of our existence, we look at the lives we've led and realise that this elusive eventuality was not a phenomenon of the future. That it's the life we've already led. That it's what's already been done. The only thing you can ever truly rely on.
In our final breath, maybe we realise that eventuality is a purse with an undetectable extension charm and we've carried it in our pocket all along.
That's where we've stashed all our hope and we find it, when we need it, without ever knowing if we will run out. That's the thing about extension charms. We never know where they end.
But every now and then, as I tap my pocket, I feel the slight bulge. And I know. That for today, there is enough in my purse to get me through. And tomorrow, hasn't arrived yet.
And for when I run out, maybe I've lived well enough for someone to lend me a little bit of sunshine from their eventualities.
Eventually, we'll all get there.
Him: Trust yourself Sushruti. And have faith in yourself. I know I do. And things will work out.
Me:
Things will work out.
Eventually.
That's where all faith rests.
And on days I wonder what that place must look like.
I wonder if it's a graveyard for broken dreams or a river catching sun-beams with Tennyson writing me poetry on its banks.
I imagine that one day I'll reach it, and it'll be dark and empty, covered in wet moss from all the years of tears, unspent in the hope packaged for this place.
Eventually.
When I'm drowning, I need to see which way to swim to get to the surface. On days, I wonder if it's this place that beams all my stored sunshine and gets me through.
On days I wonder if sunshine is a finite resource.
I wonder if we ever get there. If in the last moments of our existence, we look at the lives we've led and realise that this elusive eventuality was not a phenomenon of the future. That it's the life we've already led. That it's what's already been done. The only thing you can ever truly rely on.
In our final breath, maybe we realise that eventuality is a purse with an undetectable extension charm and we've carried it in our pocket all along.
That's where we've stashed all our hope and we find it, when we need it, without ever knowing if we will run out. That's the thing about extension charms. We never know where they end.
But every now and then, as I tap my pocket, I feel the slight bulge. And I know. That for today, there is enough in my purse to get me through. And tomorrow, hasn't arrived yet.
And for when I run out, maybe I've lived well enough for someone to lend me a little bit of sunshine from their eventualities.
Eventually, we'll all get there.
