Wednesday, November 19, 2014


Upon seeing these words on his facebook page i was heartbroken. Having secretly nurtured hopes for a realization of our putative bond, given the caprices of time, had seemed a possibility that could be fulfilled. Now the above mentioned post dashed my hopes to the ground.
I scoured her profile, with whom he was now enmeshed, with great trepidation. While her unremarkable features palliated my misery somewhat the glaring fact of her being a part of his life consumed me with bitter jealousy. I realized that i was undermining her factuality by imbuing her with grotesque associations. At any moment reality , which was in any case established by the post, might discomfit me further. By making of her a funnel through which i filtered out my anger i felt, momentarily, great self satisfaction. But it was illusory.
The chat space on my right hand side, studded with greenish dots, betokens a space where i can pour forth my predicament to sympathetic friends. The post option, from which i will naturally exclude him further intensifies the desire for expression . But time has demonstrated that such avowals, couched as disavowals, concealed under a patina of guilelessness actually evince a hunger for attention that is insatiable. And the more empathy is proffered the hungrier will my desire for self exoneration be. Ultimately all i'll end up with is an indiscriminate show of my pitifulness while the world will move on.
Wan't such a similar process the ground of my disenchantment? We had exchanged pleasantries initially followed by, at least from me, an honest account of one's life. I believed him,believed in the fortuitousness of our intersection to bring about the desired apotheosis and i was proved wrong.
Was my expectation of our togetherness precipitate? Or downright unrealistic? I must have projected, imagining him as enthralled by me as i was with him. And in all honesty he did demonstrate verbally, on many occasions, the authenticity of his regard. Were i face to face with him i might perhaps divine the truth beneath his self proclamations. But who knows, even in real life, he may have dissembled impeccably. The hope of a good outcome renders the prospect of scepticism precarious. It crystallizes self doubt and  blunts judgement.
Ultimately all i am left with is the spectre of my naivete, my foolish, ingenuous building up of a hope that was predestined to be foiled. I could either brush off this incongruous episode as a learning curve or be steeped in misery for the near foreseeable future. All i know is that, in some imperceptible way my idea of myself has undergone a metamorphosis.

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