Normal Days #94

Always have, Always will

Here I am, by the Atlantic Ocean, for this stint of job, yes, it is oil & gas and yes, it is a good one. I have been missing you and yes, that has not changed. I doubt it ever will. I tried, I tried and yet when no one is looking at me and I am smiling at things ppl say and try to engage me in a conversation and as soon as I turn away or as soon as they start talking same white noise pleasantries with other ppl I just get lost in you. The vastness of this ocean, the quiet of it, the calm of it and sea has always calmed me, always, it has had that kind of effect on me, but it doesn’t take away that feeling of loneliness away.

Come back and haunt me.

I am reaching out, reaching out to you.

Why? What is happening to me? Why? Why have you destroyed me this b’fully. I am useless for everyone. Everyone! and I am like a junkie. You know, have you seen ‘em when they get high and are running for their next fix. The things they do, they invent new methods to feel something, for the drug to flow in their system and how they can get high and disconnect with any known entity but flow in the ether and stay motionless, stilled. If you think of it, it is kind of b’ful, to feel that and to work for that, towards that, towards that bliss, I mean I am not saying it is the way for me but I respect the way they do and attain that state.

All the work and all the situations they get ‘emselves into and they beg, borrow, steal too, right? At that time there is no ego in ‘em, only complete surrender to their vices and their fixes.

And then there is me, not a junkie of drugs, but not normal either. I detach and see myself interacting with ppl online or real and how I do not feel anything, nothing and it just makes me more of a spectator than the engaged person in any conversation. No topic is stimulating enough, I talk and feel a lil thing, like a junkie who will try a drug and take it but it doesn’t do much to take him there where he’d wanna go, know what I mean?

I talk with ppl the same way, I want it to be an interactive thing, to feel a lil connection with anybody but then nothing, nada. And then I look for something, or someone, to flow directly in my veins, like junkies inject ‘emselves with. To feel any sort of connection but the broken in me doesn’t want to hold on to anything. It let it all go way too easily and way too quickly.

So while I am at this vast Atlantic ocean, new places, new beginnings, new people and yet the old ghosts and old demons they just lurk and laugh at me when I try to be social and it isn’t like I don’t make connections, some are instant, some feel they’d mean something, they could grow into something but then they come out of shadow and make me wonder,  “What am I even doing? All this for what? For people? Do you want ‘em to see your broken, the ugly, the uglier and the ugliest?”

I do reply to 'em, that, broken is b’ful and then there is whole lot of discussion about it and in the end, I just sigh and let it be. So here I am broken b’fully, still telling the same old tale, still refusing to let go, still crying about how it was and how it will never be the same again. I hope you are happy, wherever you are.

And I sit by the Atlantic Ocean and talk to the waves about how it was. How it always will be.
And maybe, just maybe, they’ll give me an award someday — for how many different ways a man can write the same heartbreak over and over, spinning new sentences from the same old sorrow.
It’s crazy, isn’t it?

Honey! I'm home!!

(To be Contd..)

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