All is not gone

She couldn’t get herself to read books these days. She had sat for half an hour trying to engross herself in a good old murder mystery by Agatha Christie only to discard it on the bed and walk out of the room with the familiar feeling of impatience. She couldn’t even read the newspapers except for running her eyes through the headlines. The editorials were a far cry. She’d changed and she knew it because this wasn’t her. She wasn’t at peace and she wondered what exactly would soothe her mind. A part of her wanted to wait around and see herself through this senseless floating while another voice that seemed to grow louder and louder each day wanted her to leave. It was over and done with. Just leave and start afresh. It doesn’t matter because you will build your own world again. You always do. You shall learn how to.
A couple of months back she would have questioned her own deeds but now it was different. She probably didn’t judge herself in the same light anymore. It is so extraordinary just charting your own course of evolving as a person. How sometimes your life feels like a movie or a story book and how to outsiders it looks oh so perfect and only you would know about the inner turmoil. Maybe in the same fashion she had envied people and maybe their lives weren’t what she had made them out to be. That all of us have our own demons to fight and that it was all in the head. In semi darkness someone had whispered in her ears about a glass ceiling and how she has to look beyond it, that maybe it was time to move on.
Driving home at 12 at night when she’d been on the phone with a friend and she had questioned herself when the driver almost cursed her for her non belief in her own abilities. Her soul sister sitting behind agreed with him wholeheartedly. Something changed in her that night. She’d always dreamt but now she realised that it is time she believes in herself. The whisperer left for his own travels, left her with memories of midnight drives & Romeo and Juliet , getting lost in the vastness of the city, bizarre conversations, walking home hand in hand after coffee, a Sunday morning breakfast, inebriations, unexpected tenderness and a pair of laughing hazel eyes.