In the end, does it even matter?


Guest Post: Simran Pattnaik

in the end

In the end, does it even matter?

You’re sitting on a bench in a park,
with tear soaked eyes trying to calm yourself down;
amongst strangers,
you try to find solace and hide from familiar faces;
because you’re afraid to show them the ocean brimming
in the corner of your eyes,
you’re afraid to show,
the stars falling from your sky.
One by one. For they are too broken to grant any wishes
Does it even matter,
that you started your day by looking at the sky,
smiling, that it might rain?

But it did rain. Didn’t it?
You’re with your friends, hanging out and talking loud.
Suddenly you fall quiet and feel like your voice has lost its frequency
and that whatever you say,
no one even cares to listen.
And the voices of your friends feel like a song from the 90’s
playing in the background,
which you understand, but don’t feel.
Like that lost memory of a childhood trip,
which you once had with your father,
holding you on his back and running parallel to the sea.
That memory, of which remains; only the voices.
Too muffled to be heard.
Only the sounds of giggle, that remains.
Remains. Only to be felt, not to be understood.
Does it even matter, that it just remains as a memory,
Without any photograph of your dad and you.
Without any photographs of your friends, so few?

You’re on a dinner date with the love of your life, sitting by your side.
And you talk all about the world,
and your family and your job and your insecurities.
And at that moment of genuine euphoria;
you’re hit by your old best friend;

You remember how the first boy you loved broke your heart.
Of how much time did it take for you to bring his memories
that played in an unstoppable loop in the back of your brain,
to a halt.
And then you realize, all this while;
you were searching for that old love in this new person.
And you start thinking if he cheats someday;
will you feel betrayed?
Because in the first place it was you,
who was cheating…
As you were searching for some other person in him.
But whatsoever, does it even matter,
if all of these turns out to be just a memory?

A memory so unrecognized,
that it will never play in the back of your brain.
It will only hit you like those lost waves hit the shore;
in search of their lost home.
Just like the memory of that place, where you’ve never been.
Like the memory of that mountain; which lies in between.
Ocean and horizon. Infinite and millisecond.

It’s 4 am and you’re sitting on the bathroom floor,
with smudged kohl and your mascara rushing down your cheeks.
You’re too tired to think about anything,
and the only thing that you think about is the pricking
of the cool tiles against your bare skin.
You draw circles with your blade tip on your arms and on all the places;
where no scars were seen.

You decorate them with your defending art with the colour red;
of which, once the colour was green.
You think you’ve lost all signs of living.
But then you remember,
of the cold tiles,
pricking against your bare skin.
You’re relieved.
You re-live.
You’re hurting.
And that’s too a sign of living.
But in the end, does it even matter,
that you wake up and find out,
that whatever you’ve been reading,
is like a forgotten dream?

A dream so blur,
that you don’t even recognize your face
in that infinite moments that you lived, and died.
You loved and cried.
You try to think. Think.
And to re-read the imprints.
To re-live the little things.
You’re tired.
And you give up.
And you think, it doesn’t.
The dream is over, and it doesn’t matter anymore.
It does.

It’s not the end.

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