6 Minutes.

Yet another Coincidence.

This time, it's 6 minutes apart.

It's beginning to feel like birth pangs.

Dear You, what is Your Purpose?

I gave You 9 whole years.

More importantly, I gave you my youth. I can never have that back.

I would love to live each day in Happiness.

If You would not say,

Then let me walk away.

Through the Fog, I Dreamt.

I dreamt of You. Thrice.

After all this while,

After having some peace of mind, I dreamt of You.

The scenario's always the same :

You'd lead me to a house. It was always one with copious amounts of space. You'd then draw near to me but leave soon after.

This inspid invasion of the subconscious is attributed to the onslaught I'd expected on Facebook.

"You know he'll do it. You're asking for it, provoking a retaliation by man this, man that," was B's chiding.

Really?

I thought it no longer mattered,

That You'd no longer cared,

That I no longer did either.

"If he no longer cared, would all these happen right now? Can you stop attributing it to sheer Coincidence? Do you really think you can hide behind naive thoughts? Can EVERYTHING he has done and tried to show be simply coincidence?" was M's exasperated admonishment.

It's better to think of everything as one huge Coincidence.

It's better this way.

So that I can continue to walk away.

I have to.

I must.

The Meander of Her Trail Fell Away From The Figure.

She flinched, if only for a while.

A fracas settled on her features, blanching white on her mien. An otherwise latent myriad of questions sickled bewildered thoughts. The thick black cloud in her head was cleft and still. Quivering, the orifice of which words sprang forth was now muted from the faintest tremor of such a dramatic overture.

Before her stood The Nightmare that had transpired in 2007.

She knew not till This Day why things had turned out that way - The Incredible Letdown. The Nightmare. The Great Depression. The What-have-yous.

Recently, she found her way back to Happiness. Clawed, if you'd like. The Forgotten had been buried deep in the recesses of her consciousness.

This figure all but ignited the encapsulation of That Time, for which Misery had no simile.

Their eyes met. Furtive glances followed.

To suit the action to the word, each scanned the other warily. Both knew better than to dislodge the tallowed quiescence which teetered precariously.

She repaid the receptive caprice by answering grace and dignity on her part - the meander of her trail fell away from The Figure.