A week with shower cap, a day without it.
I was dreaming about him and his ex girlfriend shopping together. He was shouting, familiarly, she was shouting too, voices were coming from a distance and then bam!
I woke up with a start and listened to the voices. It wasn't him, he wasn't capable of shouting. He was capable of agitated arguments in the extremes. I got out of my bed and walked towards the door barefoot. I sat on the sofa placed right outside my room, carefully, quietly listening to them shouting at each other. I kept waiting for one of them to throw something at the other, to hit the other before I intervened. It was my signal. I was able to visualise myself, a kid, sitting on the sofa waking up by arguments at 7 every morning waiting for the signal. And every visualisation made me pity. It wasn't self pity. It was pity shown by someone who could see the two floors of a house, first floor having a kid waiting for her parents to hit each other and ground floor having an unhappy couple waiting for their lives to end. Is it normal to visualise your present as yourself and as someone else who is maybe happier?
Somehow silence took over while I was rapt in my thoughts.
After making sure that the silence would prevail, I checked my phone. Nothing. No leftovers of last night's conversation. I entered the bathroom.
I inched my face closer to the mirror. They were a clear set of whites much like the egg white, there were no red dots from the popped veins which were there the last night, no fine red lines, no inkling of any misery. The eyelashes were all separated making the overall effect very soothing and beautiful.
In the last four days, each night I ended up sleepless because a parent lost interest, a lover lost faith, a friend lost character and I contradicted my own self.
Maybe it was the sleeplessness of the last four days that made me fall asleep, fall numb. My ironic clear whites.
Insomnia is better that way, it makes you feel.
I cried because I feared loss in the life of someone I loved, I shook with anger which I thought was out of me after all these years, I stopped arguing, something that I thought I could never do.
Sad things are the ones you cry about or the ones that you are not able to cry about.
Worst things are the ones where you are not able to cry anymore.
I stood in front of the mirror after undressing so that I could see myself, head to navel. I stood in an attention pose counting the number of moles on my body. There were 13 of them with a tiny new brown dot on my throat. What does that mean now? I'm soft spoken or harsh? No. A meticulous orator or just a person who needs to stop speaking? Who would have noticed this change? No one I guess. Yesterday in an internet series, a girl was telling her father that it was easy to not care. She was wrong. It's very difficult to not care. When did it become this easy to choose this difficult a path?
I could see my hair all sweaty, looking very much like a mesh of barbed wire.
Maybe hitting the roads again will manage the mesh. The air would touch my hair and untangle them. I might find rain on my way, maybe the cold winds will hurt my eyes making me cry and the warmth of the sun will make me sleep.
Let some more come before they call me a facade.
I threw the shower cap out of the bathroom and walked under the shower.