Silent conversations

She was quite ignorant about the happenings in the mainland; continued to live in suburban quietude. The city’s once most popular mall was the place of her vaccination; she remembers through stories narrated by her mother. That’s all. Nothing post that. One of the longest connecting roads has been a race track of nostalgia. When she was growing up, it was an interconnecting road that she had to take each time she commuted to visit relatives; in the protective shade of her mother. A thick coating of verdigris after that; stained, with no signs of removal. She was not quite blissful about the ignorance on the other end of the city. She knew something, WOULD distract her and lead her to the mainland. A ray of light thus ensued and buses did lead her to the destination. A destination of an inexplicable madness, they call it LOVE, she guessed; albeit she was never particular about naming the emotion as LOVE. She was non-expectant, and detested this abstract emotion called love. Nonetheless, she silently began reeling in love; with the roads and bylanes acquiring a flash card of memory each. Traveling to the mainland meant meeting, perhaps seeing her charm, if not indulgence, to say the least. Imprisoned by tantalizingly sweet memories. Everything else was secondary; a certain pleasurable trap it was, rather. A self-lover of sorts that she was had developed a quaint preoccupation with another self, quite abruptly.  She waded her way out of anything menacy that came by, making sure there was no interruption.

All, finally for nothingness. A big ball of imbroglio. Ensconced in silent continuous, silent conversations that had no destination, no direction. She did not even know if there was an iota of sameness from the other end, from Love’s end. Nothing whatsoever. Swathed in a storehouse of memoirs, from which she sought incentive, to even exist.