”Ready?”, he asked with a challenging smile. We were sitting facing my PC fingures on game control keys. He was always intrested in gaming.
“Sure.”, me too. He was back home after a long time. He is still the same and what I cannot be completely certain is only about her.
Her name always distracted him. Misappropriated his pen, was puzzled with his phone, random knocked the table, his iris swept angles, he was sharp to spoken words and listened too, not once. I cannot call it a distraction to the full context, but it was some kind of psychological anxiety and stimuli which he was not able to hide completely, even after his dedicated trials, which I came to know for he is a good friend of mine.
“You are my inspiration”, those were some words forming a beautiful sentence, which I saw while he typed on his hand-set (I was good at guessing the keystrokes even looking from the back). I thought about it, a person who he never told me about turned to an inspiration! That was a good start to waste my holidays.
He was sometimes silent, sometimes naughty, sometimes mad, but he was always alert to be private, hiding his contexts and references. “It is my effort, eventhough not gonna succeed, to be out of the big data revolution, Friend mine”, he commented. Disappointing was he, to his mysterious manners of presenting a topic. But he is good, for me.
“Differences!”, one day he intervened. He was psychologically unstable then.
“Yes?”, I never liked someone interrupting me during a movie.
“Differences matter”, he didn’t seem affected by my unwilling look, which was not usual from his side. “Say me something..please.”
Out of choice I began, “Matter..”
“Anything..please say something about anything..”
“How are you?”
“Not that kind. Change”, command was that.
“There was a girl”, he came up. “She was so beautiful, so sincere, so lovely, so good, so successful in routines, appeared to be all those. She had her own ways. It was during my primaries I saw her. Intelligent. Attractive. You know, that I was not so opened and social.”
“Yes. I do.”
“That was my problem. I didn’t even talked to her. I was studious and anxious and really worried about the mysterious and dramatic unfair plays of fait, for those days I believed in them.
It was all about many differences. And what is difference actually? According to me, it is a change between two. May be numerical, otherwise psychological, sometimes polilitical, else economical or emotional. What domain than this is needed? Eh?”
His silence was little tough to hang out with and it was emitionally pralaysing; that was what I went through then.
“She is rich, wealthy, beautiful, attractive, have big beautiful circles and has a future well laid. And me? No. It is never a topic to negotiate for it cannot be since the plans and templates of funny mad time is never predictable and cannot be edited to compile back to a new stand-alone masterpiece decorated and platformed by deducated work and moral intimacy…
I tried to push some ways to get to her. My ways were never bad, I suppose. But it was a difficult task to make a bridge between distances uncertain and to deliver a poem of satisfaction and to fulfil something short term with my fearsome anxiety and immature manners. She is never close to me, friend mine…” he ended it with a disappointment. I still remember them clean because his words were strong enough to be imprinted.
I saw her today, looking on to the screen, shouting at the turns and drifts… she is really amazing as he told. She is real..