Hibiscus.

(Written on 24th April, 2015)

She closed the door gently behind her and removed her slippers. Wiping her feet on the mat, she walked heavily towards the table and lifted her glass, letting a paper fly with the wind. She noticed that the window was left open in the living room. She looked outside, the street lights were being reflected by the freshly washed street from the pouring rain that had been followed by a vicious storm, this otherwise uneventful night. One could still hear the whistling winds forcing their way through the trees and the concrete. It had been very hot and humid these past few days and they had yearned for a little bit of rain, but this violent squall made it rather unpleasant and difficult to enjoy the evening shower. The clock ticked on behind her as she shut the window half-heartedly. It had become become rather cold and damp within, in a matter of few hours. This morning when she had left, the flat was in a mess. Clothes strewn around, utensils lying astray - some on the sink and kitchen-top while some on the floor. Her manuscript was torn to shreds and crumbles of previous night's left-overs speckled the magenta and olive green embroidered carpet as she had scrambled her way out of the apartment, almost tripping before this very table. She had not uttered a word. "No more complaining," she had thought as she took a deep breathe before locking the door behind her. The days sure were becoming increasingly tiresome for her. She did love her family and reminisced about the autumns they would spend lying under the golden trees in the backyard, eating berries and singing bizarre rhymes. Every such moment had long been gone and buried under rubble of despondency and melancholy which had all along been disguised by vehemence and adulation. She still was clinging to the last sliver of allure that she hoped was buried deep within her. They were miserable together and even more dejected when apart. The financial woes augmented their isolation. She kept pondering about how the guest bedroom was being occupied by her once beloved, the most indispensable part of her being and how ironic it was, that the one who once belonged in her bed, in the warmth of her arms was now as unfamiliar as a guest, occupying a room that had been so wisely named by those who did. She blinked twice promptly as she returned to her senses to realise that even her thoughts were muffled now and they did not make any sense. She looked around in the dimly lit room and she was amazed by how huge and uninhabited it looked. Everything around her belonged to their rightful place and stared back at her, mimicking her stillness. She remembered that she was thirsty and proceeded to pick the glass up when the image of a fluttering white piece of paper flashed in her memory. She looked for it around her, keeping her eyes and ears really close to the ground. She could now hear some faint murmur, the rustle of the hibiscus leaves under the window sill, the leaky faucet, the chirp of the sparrow from the neighbours living downstairs. She did not want to turn the light on. She preferred the dark, dimly lit rooms these days. She abandoned the search and proceeded to fill the glass from the vessel that was always filled with filtered water by her who was now an evanescent image of a partner that adored and cared for her still. But it was empty. She now looked around again to find the room yet more desolate and walked towards the sofa and sank in it. In a distance under the window sill, stuck between two leaves nestling a newly grown hibiscus bud, was that small piece of white paper. She mustered her strength buried deep in agony, and walked towards the other end of the room to fetch it as the clock rang the ominous tune which felt more like a bellow announcing the beginning of another day, which people also refer to as 'midnight.' The paper was little, yet folded twice. As she opened it, on the folds were written, 'bye.' Her heart now started thumping and each grew louder than the previous, every other din drowned in it. As her legs grew numb she leaned against the table disturbing the equilibrium of the glass, as it fell, she crumbled at the foot of the table clasping her hands firmly around its legs. She couldn't let go as she wailed and bawled, her eyes shut with anguish. She did not know where she had gone. She knew she would never find her again if she did not want to be found, and in her desperation she shrieked, "Miriam," something she had not uttered with such an intense desire or longing for months. But Miriam could not hear it, nor could her belongings, as she had taken everything with her. She hoped that Miriam would come back, maybe to pick up a lamp mistakenly left behind, but she knew that the chances of that happening were slim. She did not know how she would survive her absolute absence as she stared blankly at Miriam's beloved hibiscus plant.

(Painted on 17th October, 2017)