The best part between us has been to not talk about our daily grind, there’s no “How was your day?”, “You had your dinner?”,” what’s new?”, and a similar barrage of redundant questions with rebounded answers that even people part of the conversation know, is just to push the conversation forward, yet at least one of them would keep bringing that up.
For us, me and her, it is not that now. Yes, it’s been Me and Her.
Not that we have a series of other conversational topics that keep us occupied, but something that pushes beyond the mundane outflow of words. There is a sense of tranquility lingering on the onset of these little exchanges; there is an essence of satisfaction from what I get to hear from her in return of my blabber through the course of trying hard not to sound like an idiot. Not at least this second time.
I get this vibe of her knowing about this idiotic me and yet tries to suppress this idea. Just let me stay where I am, of not letting me scale up the ladder to gather enough courage to do something more idiotic? Or there is a flicker of hope down the road which she wants me to travel? Travel along with her.
Yes, I think too much. Too much to build castles up in the air, too much to stress myself out of things that may never happen actually. Portraying me as either an Optimistic would be far-fetched but tagging me as a pessimistic would also be an understatement; which even an idiot like me understands.
It is indeed difficult to understand her, not that I have never tried. Tried for Days, tried for Months and even for a Year, but couldn’t. Just couldn’t. Not her, nor anything from her. What I have only known is about the push which I gave myself, to try and try harder. Again and again. Only to return empty handed on each occasion.
But now, it has come down to a different level, a level where I pull myself from trying anything. Where I contain my urge to again understand her, to get to dive deep into those eyes and gather any glimmer of hope beaming out to be reflected on a future where I can be a part of it.
I don’t want to think now. Neither of trying, neither to look at the prospects of any build-up to what I have now. I just want this to continue. I just want this to not change itself, of the connect that comes through her to me, even though it may be for a little while, before she lets go off this idiot yet again, but I want to savour this moment, these moments binding themselves to remain etched as precious little possessions to be kept for life.
It isn’t love, it isn’t any infatuation either, and it’s something which I don’t understand and something which makes me a hopeful. A hopeful idiot.
As narrated by the Idiot, with minimum exaggerations and enhanced expressions. For further development keep waiting.