It was a gloomy morning with mild sunlight
I opened the letter box
T’was a wedding card
A bright white with an eternity symbol in the corner
I knew the handwriting
The very pull at the end of every word
Written in well learnt cursive
*
Even their names seemed to be in sync
The made for each other kind
It was, as if,
Those two names were meant to be written side by side
With just one word in the middle
‘weds’

*
I went inside my room and shut the door
Walked to my table
Switched on my newly fixed table light
And sat with a blank sheet of paper
Wishing my life could be
As new, fresh and uncontaminated as that A4
Unlike the crumpled brown paper
Which had made its way to the bin
*
After sitting with the letter for an hour
I asked myself –
What do I write to him?
Should I ask him the cause of this invitation?
Is it a bitter revenge?
Or a way to reconcile a relationship which will
Never be the same
Trying to tamper with our situation
Was like pricking on a wound which was almost healed
Which would heal
Stop hurting me
But the scar would remain
As a reminder
Of something which taught me
How pain becomes pleasure
*
Instead,
I opened my drawer
And took out an old letter
Which held emotions of a sixteen year old lover,
Who didn’t care about my beauty or past?
Who was brave enough to write,
In that same cursive
“I love you”
With that same personal pull at the end
I poured a bit of my blood
Mixed with tears into that pouch of memories
And sealed it
And sent it
That was enough hate from a lover
On his wedding day
*Enough

Over the course of my skirmish with sleeplessness
More has been learned than I care to admit.
Although frequently,
I am blinded by frustration.
Coupled with the vicious need to sleep
And lack of.
But I have learned.

I have learned to acknowledge
The transition of dark to day
A process
I often neglected to think of before.
It is easier, I have found,
To pick yourself up
From the depths of your mind
When you are stood side by side
With a sun rising so bright.

I have learned of change,
And its magnificence.
Not long ago it was one more thing to be shunned,
A curse.
I once feared the unknown and unexplored
Unaware of the ever-morphing cycle outside my window
Spanning each and every season of the year.

I have learned of time
And the abundance of it carelessly slept away
In the panic of eluding reality.

I have learned of every birdsong sang
outside the outer glass of my window
A single composition
that had once sounded like a clone
a carbon copy of those previously heard
now a sweet waking melody
it emerges from the dark.

I have learned of the quiet and stillness
That is essential to knowing oneself.
All distractions put to bed
My company is my own.
And in the absence of sleep,
I have made a friend in my self.