Can I Talk To You?

There are maybe eighty things I want to tell you,

but only one will come out-

Mere existence is hard.

Eighty things on my mind right now

and a thousand more I feel all day

but one thing repeats over and over-

Maybe I can’t.

I wake up and I don’t know if the sun is over my head or deep in the sea.

All day long all I hear is the creaking of my bed and the noise of my breath.

At least I’m here, I tell myself. But is that enough?

One afternoon again I pick myself up and drag down to the Center.

We talk of our thoughts, our feelings. I talk of my day.

I talk about having samosas for lunch and complain about the chutney falling on my new blouse.

Everyone laughs and nods at yet another effortlessly decorated lie and then all go back home.

I do too.

I go back to my creaking bed where the sheets have gotten cold now.

I slide under them and rest my exhausted spirit.

Again hours pass by. I don’t know how many. I’m not sure of a lot of things these days.

My mind lets me bother about my phone for once, so I dig through the mess around to find it.

There are 7 unread messages.

6 from mobile services but there is one.

One from a friend asking me- How was your day? Did you try my samosa recipe?

I type a ‘yes’ before I know it but something stops me.

I dial and stick the phone between my ear and the pillow.

She answers.

‘I did not.’ Words roll out of my mouth.

‘Why?’