Recovery

You go somewhere, look around at all the things you would love to have. Look also at your rapidly dwindling notes and coins and resist.

Resist buying that pink silk sarong and the green parasol and the tiny silver earrings with the pearls dangling beneath.

What for?

For buying that one special thing for that one special person whom you have left behind and would have done anything to have along.

You hunt around despairing to find that one thing which would convey all that you feel.

And then you finally find it. Tucked away in a corner, looking innocuous, ordinary, you pick it out, read a thousand things into each curve and embed a thousand more of your own memories, desires and expectations into it.

You try and explain what it means to you and fail to convey even a tenth of it and you finally offer it, hoping it would be able to convey all that you have repeatedly failed to express.

Only for that person to lose it within two days.

What do you do? What do you say? What do you feel?

You feel intense hurt and then after a while nothing at all. You think that this is how it was to be. Beautiful and therefore short lived.

You cry, you feel cheated not loved enough and then you revert to your rational thought processes. You wrench away all the feelings you had bestowed on it and remember it as an ordinary thing found in markets all over town sold for an x amount.

You say “don’t worry, it wasn’t worth half as much as a happy you” and in saying that you recover your sense of balance, your judgment of the true worth of things, people.