A Comforting Embrace

I went there again. I didn’t really want to go, but somehow, I found myself there yet again. As if my body had decided to be there without needing my approval. It was the same old building, the same floor number three. It was a busy building, a busy floor, and of course, a busy hall. People, sitting in groups of three to five, chatting in whispers, with not a care in the world, not bothered with what’s going on around them. And then there were some sitting in solitude, their ear canals stuffed with little speakers that transported them to the world of whatever they were watching on that tiny screen of the black mirror they held in their palms. Among these unknown faces — and some familiar ones — I saw that chair. It was empty.

You’d expect that in as busy a place as this, most of the chairs and tables would be occupied. And they mostly were. But by some sliver of fortune, this one chair was empty this afternoon, the computer workstation on the table before it turned off. As if the people around knew of the legend of that chair, and were respecting the presence of your aura there. Or, on a lesser chance, they were allowing me to indulge in the guilty pleasure of believing in a fantasy, allowing me to embrace the little space I so desperately wanted to be in. Space seemed to warp in on itself, dragging me closer to the chair. Ten feet, eight, five, four, two —

“That machine doesn’t work,” a voice said from somewhere around me, “if you need to check up on something, find some other one in the other reference area.”

They call this place a library, where people are supposed to sit, read, be quiet, enjoy themselves in the literary works, and then leave. The workstations only served as a quicker medium to find what you wanted, and most of the time, they were occupied. I smiled, it was good that this one didn’t work. Suits the purpose of my visit perfectly.

I turned to see who had spoken. I saw the guy in a hoodie, with a small paperback in his hand. How to read a person like a book. A nice read, and it was interesting if he was actually applying the pointers given in that book on me. Still, I found myself speaking, “it’s alright. I’m here to do what all the others are doing anyway.” I waved my hand around for the extra effect.

I sat on the chair, feeling myself sink just a little. I placed my arms first on the armrest, then gingerly on the table top. Once again, without any approval from my nervous system, my hands snaked around themselves. Soon, my head was upon them, turned to the side. Just like the old times when you and I would simply sit here, with our heads on our arms, turned towards each other, whispering little nothings, and then falling asleep.

A short nap later when I woke up, everything was quiet. A little lamp above illuminated the table, and the sky from the window appeared dark. Wrapped in that trance-like sleep, and the quiet ambiance of the room around me, something strange happened. Something that I never thought would happen.

I felt relaxed. For the first time in over two years after you decided to leave, I felt relaxed. If I knew that all I had to do to feel content without you in my life was to fall asleep in a place which was infused with your aura, I would have spent everyday here. But then again, maybe the passage of time was necessary as well. Like some fine wine ageing, this hall, this table, this chair, and this dumb piece of machine needed time to infuse themselves with your aura and make it potent enough to have the effect that it did. And there I go again, throwing around mindless metaphorical analogies. Do metaphorical enalogies even exist?

Little white numbers on the screen of my phone told me that the short nap was, in fact, over three hours long. Strangely, it was long enough. It was long enough for everything. And it left me with a little thought.

Your memory today is,
A comforting embrace.

It doesn't excite me,
Doesn't make me miss you
And feel sad.
It doesn't put hope in me
Of the day we'll meet again.
It doesn't throw in regret,
For not having enough.
It doesn't enrage me,
For going off track,
In the worst way possible.

It's just that,
A comforting embrace.
The softest pillow,
The perfectly warm blanket.
It's the sweetest lullaby,
Written by wizards,
And sung by the fairies.

Author's Note:

Letting someone go isn't something humans are good at. and that is as designed. but it is something we all have to go through at some point or another in our lives. It's almost never easy, but sometimes, the person leaving leaves enought behind for us to find some form of solace, comfort, or even the motivation to move on. these little things are what we must keep close to our hearts and be happy with.

If you find this little thought meaningful, leave your own down in the comments....