"Somedays I am goddess. Somedays I am wild child. And somedays I am a fragile mess. Most days I am a bit of all three. But everyday, I am here, trying." - s.c lourie
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It was a lazy afternoon, the day I was crying my heart out. You could say I relapsed that day. I had it all crashing into me; all of it. The insecurities, a lover I didn't have, the loneliness, that exhausting feeling of being a liability to everyone I came across.
I tried everything to get rid of that sick feeling. I can't name, but it always felt the same way as always, when we squeeze a balloon in every possible way, but it won't burst. I wasn't able to enjoy my favorite song; I jammed for hours or watched the silly cat videos on the internet. Binge eating my favorite cookies made me feel like shit, but I couldn't get rid of the feeling. The only thing I could do was throw my head back and start sobbing, again.
I felt like I should punch a wall or smash something, but I didn't think I would be able to go through the consequences. Call me a coward, but I settled up for loud hiccups and giant rolls of teardrops without an end.
Finally, I settled on the balcony, in my beanbag, staring at the orange horizon, the sun long gone; the moon out in bright dusk. I was numb.
When I finally settled into a subconscious auto-state, it was when I heard somebody asking me how long I was going to sit out there in the cold. Then I snapped out of it.
I glared at him and shrugged.
I was not in the state to greet him. Namaste. He was dressed up in comfy pajamas with a mug in his hands, street lights reflecting in his glasses from the other balcony towards me.
Then it went all serene; you might as well find the evening aesthetics of that chilling cold evening on Pinterest; the sound of him blowing and sipping his drink was too irritating for my ears. I huffed silently, but he caught me.
What took me back was when he asked me if I was done with my week's crying session, the nerve of that guy.
I easily replied to him with a none of your business, challenging him with an eyebrow up. Even in my messy state, I couldn't get rid of my snarky attitude. I knew I was throwing a pity party for myself. That's how it works for me, as pathetic as it sounds.
That guy just stands up straighter, giving me the same look I've given him. He says I quote him, "It becomes my business when you wake me up from my sleep, I take before my night shift." It kinda left me feeling guilty, but I am too proud to admit it.
I looked down, biting my lips. I was embarrassed that my neighbor had to hear my breakdown every once in a while. I always thought the walls were soundproof.
By then he had left the balcony and I breathed a silent sigh of relief. Looking up at the crescent moon, now shining brightly, I went back to my dejected self.
Suddenly I heard the balcony door open rashly from the 'left'. The next thing I know a heavy cloth is thrown my way. By the time I loudly cursed and yelled and registered what had happened, he had left as quickly.
The thing I wouldn't admit to anybody was, I did indeed snuggle into that large T-shirt with sleeves so long my whole arms drowned in, watching the night sky, with a small smile and the smell of his rosy detergent covering me.
I should admit he was 'one' nosy neighbour.
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