Lament

I rapped my knuckles on the table. My mind was going places, it shouldn’t.

I felt the familiar tug of the great outdoors beckon me once again. I knew, with a shameful guilt, that I was not entitled to this tug. Yet I responded to it. I absentmindedly donned my coat and boats. I grabbed my headphones on the way out, stopping momentarily to glance at my messy room.

It was littered with empty take out containers and a myriad of personal effects. Before I allowed guilt to overcome me, I hurried out, taking my keys with me. I shut the door behind me and as the breeze hit my face, I felt like I could breathe again.
My legs carried me to my usual spot, the park near my place. I watched around me. There were happy faces. I knew not why they were.

There were families. Parents with kids. Kids with their parents. Siblings. Grandparents. With a twinge of jealousy and a smile playing on my lips, I watched as the children played with one another. Watching them, made me miss my parents too. I made a mental note to call them later that day.

I walked around with my hands clenched in a fist. One hand inside my coat pocket, and the other swinging by my sides.
I saw couples, happily feeding each other tidbits and talking animatedly to one another. I snorted a chuckle and yet felt that familiar tug of jealousy, right at my chest.

I chose a rather solitary bench and hoisted myself on it. I sat down with a sigh and my hitherto calm face turned into a scowl.
I knew that sitting down was a waste of time and that I wasn’t entitled to it. I berated myself mentally for having to sit down.

I then began to inspect my palms and the back of my hands. The scowl, still very evident on my face. Thoughts of life, work, decisions and pending activities tried to hijack my mind, but I resisted them.

When I finally shifted my attention to my surroundings, I saw a young girl pass by. I estimated her to be around 16 or 17. She seemed quiet but possessed a shy sort of confidence.
She was plainly dressed, but elegantly so. Not fashionable, but you’d definitely notice her in a crowd. She was a bit dumpy but her long stature didn’t allow her to be seen that way.

She walked in long strides past me and joined a group of cantankerous teenagers who were yapping away to glory.

She sat at the end of the group. No one seemed to acknowledge her, save for a boy who sat opposite her. He got up and shifted to sit besides her. It was obvious that he fancied her and soon they began a hushed conversation. She made him laugh a couple of times. And they seemed to be enjoying themselves. When he spoke, I noticed that the girl gazed deeply in his eyes. Her face radiated a matronly look of concern for him. He seemed to be enjoying being the only object of her attention.

I did also note, the stolen glances that the girl paid to another boy who sat right in the middle of the crowd. He was a talkative one and seemed to be the life of the party. He was also very restless and got up and walked around the group, often times talking animatedly and gesturing very ostentatiously while doing so. I had to stifle another snort. I had always hated people who were pompous, and noticeably so.

Soon the group of youngsters dissipated and the young girl was left behind. She began reading her book, with furrowed eyebrows. I watched her for quite sometime. She was enraptured by the contents of her book and seemed to not care for the happenings of the world.

After a while of gazing, I decided to go back home. A familiar feeling of dread filled me up.

I walked back home fast, with the nauseous feeling of guilt enveloping me. Every day, at this hour, I hated myself.

I reached home. I threw my keys in the bowl. Removed my coat. Disrobed completely and lay on my messy bed. I had promised myself I would be productive after the walk, that I would shower, I would eat, I would drink water and I would clean. I’d be the person I was, the person the world knew me to be.

But as was the tradition, I refused to obey myself. I lay there until I felt tears well up in my eyes. I began sobbing. Tonight, not just for me, but for the girl I’d seen. Because I knew that one day she’d become what I had made of me. And that it was a pitiful state to be in. One day, she’d realised she’d sacrificed a lot in vain and no matter what she did, the pain wouldn’t stop. That one day, she’d be the shallow husk of the person she previously had been. And she’d have no one to blame but herself. I wept for the boy who gazed at her lovingly, for just like me, he too saw something that was so close to him, and that he couldn’t have.
I wept for the torture that girl would put herself through. The pains that she’d take. The battles she’d have to fight. The temptations she’d have to overcome and for those she’d succumb to. I wept for the dilemmas she’d be caught in and the guilt that one day would break her back.

I wept and drifted off to sleep. Showering myself with the empty promise that tomorrow would be different. Tricking my mind into believing me. Making grandeloquent plans for the next day, knowing full well none of them would come to fruition.

(This piece, just flowed out of me. As it usually does with most of my writing. It’s as if someone dictates it to me and I just write. I wrote this in a single sitting, no breaks and it just seemed so easy to form sentences and paint a picture)