The Doors

A day - Delhi

I sit behind glass doors that won't be opened looking over a city that can't be explored. A famous philosopher once said that he'd rather be living in a cave looking at the Taj Mahal than living in the Taj looking at a cave, an interesting perspective. At least my confinement allows me to conjure fanciful notions of the world outside or, more accurately, my position within it. I am become detached from its ebb and flow, its bustle, its spin. My presence in that world is just that of an avatar, given life only by my imagination. All that I have ever done or ever might do seems superimposed when I look through the window at a planet that will not stop turning, where time will not stop ticking. Did I expect it to? Surely not! Such self-inflicted interludes have been my lot before. Perhaps never before though have I been so eager to to get on with the life that I have paused. But then of course I need only the briefest respite from daily reality to conceive the most fantastical ideas of how things shall be. Not a fault in itself, the lack of will to bring these things to pass (or even attempt to) a most desperate failing. A tearing, ripping, rending, soul-shredding bloodied mess of a failing. A silver bullet to the heart of undying expectation. I fear I am ever gasping for that extra gulp of air that no person gets. Always waiting to be waited for.

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