The last circle...

Not enough. To harden my heart and smother my desire. Not enough. To close my ears and blind my eyes. Not enough. To avert my face and turn my back. I've started, started walking on this road, this terrible winding road, crossing each circle, the anticipation of finding the center dying with the sight of yet another circle to defeat. Our doomed quest. For that elusive dot , the singularity, the pole, the zero, the point,the center.

I know I'll die. I'm not afraid. It feels like surrendering to an embrace that's been held back for a long long time. We're not strangers anymore, are we?. Fear. It was all a dream. A premonition that I beheld and you'd laughed at. A vision that I'd shaped and you'd crushed laughingly between your nimbly cruel fingers in a swift contemptuous movement . A death that I'd foreseen and you'd dismissed with every circle we'd crossed. A reality that will never be real to you. Ever.
I love you. Your foolish faith. Your unseeing eyes. Your endless capacity for joy. Your infallible spirit. For being my only constant of reality in the unresolved domain of my life. I love you. You are my final shield. You are the last barrier. You are the defiant herald of my fading resistance. You'll conquer it all- my powerless melancholy, my overpowering renunciation, my hopeless resignation. We don't really need to reach the center, I'll be happy if we keep going around in infinitely concentric circles together. Forever.I can keep going around in circles with you, after all, we can never reach that point. Ever. It's pointless when you're around.

Today, we've reached the last circle. Only one more battle remains. The enemy lies there in the center, like a king poised for checkmate. Smiling. A careless smile of welcome. We're home. A smug smile of recognition. A smile of submission. She's already made her peace with defeat. We see her there, victory doesn't stem that throbbing stream of curiosity. The illusion breaks gently, like a disguise lifting to reveal a familiar face. We've seen the enemy and She's me.


PS: Phew! It's over.Quite a rant.Sources of inspiration (and sometimes desperation): P.H.Pearse, A1 CDCs, English Press Club, third year first semester (probably the most difficult sem yet) at BITS, Pilani, being Ramya Kumar (again, quite difficult.).