The lone walker
I met a man
Spotting a tan
Sitting by the quay
Looking at the bay
I sat by him
Didn’t say a word
Solace in silence
Or maybe it was shyness
He said he died yesterday
This was the new him
I couldn’t tell the difference
Could I decipher by inference
Was the new him
Better than the old him
Would the new him
Slay the ghost of the old him
No answer was forthcoming
Maybe he was brainstorming
Then I saw his reflection in the beam
He was me and I was him!
So I went to a colleague’s wife’s surprise birthday party today. It was really nice. I had several plates of “asun” – but that’s not why I am writing this.
The host had hinted that he had something special for me. A friend at the same party said that he hopes the host knew the two things I needed – alcohol and a lady friend. I just laughed.
Some time after we had settled down, someone mentioned that some lady that was at the party was the person the host had in mind. I took one look and shook my head.
Later on during the friendly chit-chat the issue came up again. I said I wasn’t interested. The host commented that “This is getting embarrassing” (with reference to my single status at my age). A friend whipped out his phone and displayed the picture of some lady I supposedly had met – she was really easy on the eyes. I begged to differ and said I don’t think I had actually met the lady – he insisted otherwise. I whipped out my phone and showed them several pictures of a lady – pilfered from her Whatsapp profile over time.
That was of course a mistake. Another friend at the gathering who knew about the lady then asked: “So what did she say?”
I had no option but to say: “She said no.”
To which he directed his reply to the other guys at the gathering: “I don’t know why he puts his eggs in one basket.”
Unfortunately, there is only so much room in my heart. The space is only big enough for one occupant at a time. And before the lady in the picture, there was only one other person … it now feels so long ago. And before that actually very long ago there was a third person.
I don’t know how they (the other guys) do it. All of them were married and yet most of them are able to find time and emotion for other women … admittedly just “physical” but still …. I can’t do it …. maybe it’s because I am … shy … maybe I would do the same if otherwise … but I like to think I am “different”.
I really shouldn’t be writing and putting this up in the “google-verse” (Internet) – “she” may come across it – and I suspect it will do more harm than good, but I guess my ego needs stroking: if nothing else, I can claim to be able to “write.”