It all came back to her — the routine

It all came back to her.

The meaning of him. The reason behind the strange un-settledness of things recently. The days devoid of passion. The drive that had left her suddenly.

There was now a feeling of things falling back in place – like a snake wrapping itself around a tree trunk and resting like a king. The days of battling everything to get by was coming to an end. The strange place was going to be left behind. The smell of familiarity, of belonging, of structure of routine was coming back. So much so was this anticipation that it left her paralyzed — unfit to do a thing. This seemed to be perfectly planned. This separation, enough to make her feel skinned and yet not enough to let her grow her own skin. Beneath the quiet and the will power was a storm of longing, a storm of re-cultivated love; fresh, organic, healthy and natural. Untainted.

She imaged the ways in which they were. What were breakfasts like. And evenings. What were those hands like. And the feel of each other’s sides when sitting close and warm on the back seat of the car. What were those sleep disruptions like, being scooped into his magnanimity, crushed to mingle with his skin — his warm breath on her nose. What was it like to have each other around — like closing the door behind a completely prepared aircraft, packing it off and sending it to fly, a world of its own, full and flying high above. What was it like to have him listen to her stories and thoughts. What was it like to be one with him, with herself, with the universe. What was it like, hearing the voice of a lovable soul talking to his beloved. And what was it like to be the beloved. To make enormous demands and go to sleep listening to his heartbeats pumping declarations of love into her ears — replicating the world from her dreams.