When I come half way

When I make an effort to wake up early, because you are coming to give me a ride to my office, and I dont even think about it until late in the evening when I am paralyzed by yawns, then I know that I've come more than half way.

In the slightly uncomfortable atmosphere of a restaurant whose bill is not exactly easy on your purse, I elaborately share a funny out-of-place story to you. About a "somebody" from a small town with a mundane life, on whose mundane life one day a stranger comes. They fall in love, although that "somebody" knows that the stranger is not there to stay. So while they are in love, and the few days that they were going to have would be heaven, there still was tragedy looming in the future. Which made their time together precious, yet tinged with a tragic air. That somebody is already bidding the love of their life a mental farewell. Its as if the love is there, but not really there. It is so real, yet so unreal. Their love is. I gave the phrase "sweet pain" to describe the feel of this whole story to you. Of course, you nod and beam as if you understand totally what I am up to. But of course you don't.

I make all this effort, which to me feels like I am trying to graft my skin upon yours so that you feel every pore, cut and wrinkle of my body. I conjure up this whole story, actually just to make you understand how is it with me and the things that I write. Even as I am telling you this whole scheme of things, I too am enmeshed in that "sweet pain"-of trying to make you understand me in totality, yet knowing that you will never grasp what I am trying to share in whole. Why the need to lay myself bare naked, from my feelings to my insecurities, in front of you? When I ponder upon this, I realize again with a skipping heart, that I have come more than half way.

How far have you come?