The city of intertwined fates

In the residue of last week's concert - in alienation brought on by alcohol, by better-halves of bestfriends, while looking at the hunched shoulders of the drummer from backstage, mesmerised, I do. In loud music at Ashi's dholkis, in 9 a.m phone calls that wake me up, in the quiet, in the quiet, in distracting new music that sounds like the old, while getting dressed, talking by proxy, wondering, in long-forgotten passwords, in a pointless argument just the night before that strangely brings on tears, in frustration when there is not one place where I can hide where I will not find criticism, I do. In old clothes, at Ashi's mehndi, in conversations full of laughter, in the halos around the lights, in the spectacular, too-close car crash that I see in slow motion at the very very end of the day, from lightyears ahead and beyond, I do.

And I am afraid to say this out loud, but in my own way I do mark the days.