Commuter Combinations

Work of fiction that was maybe inspired by something I read on Thought Catalog. I will not tell you if I would stand behind what I write below.
I wrote this out of boredom. And on that count, I like what I've done.

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I will only see her once. In that short meeting I will probably never see her look anywhere but at the screen of her phone. Her ears will hear nothing but her own taste in music  I'm listening to something too, which just makes me wonder if she's listening/ listened to the same song and already feel a sense of connection with her. I'd probably read the 2 lines on her T-shirt that were randomly generated by some computer and I will over-interpret it to how we support the same social causes or how are attitudes are similar. I will probably assume that she isn't dominant based on the colour of her nail polish  Assume that she is an independent woman just because she carries a backpack. Mentally curse the unknown and probably very good-looking boyfriend because, who would let such a pretty face stay single?

Maybe I'd have a completely horrible first date with her but I try not to think of all that. I skip to the part where we're both unduly attached to each other and its just the two of us walking along an empty shore. I will see how her hair's tied up but probably go on to imagine that she likes more to let it loose.

I wonder if I must marvel or cry at the fact that just by looking at her and probably the book that she is reading, I can truly convince myself that I want nothing more than to grow old with this woman.

She probably speaks a language I don't understand, doesn't believe in love, doesn't want kids, etc. Actually, for the sake of my argument, she may and may not be all the things I've listed, and more.

But what I feel for her, for lack of a better word, is an honest affection.
Honestly felt compassion and affection that I probably don't even feel for the multiple people I am currently in love with. 

But I smile and end that train of thought. Get off and wait for my next train, wondering if I was ever the object of someone's commute-fantasy. 

*/

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V

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Uh I've been reading more, so thats a good thing. Been writing more. Thats a great thing.
I feel like I'm in a good spot now. With dread and anticipation almost cancelling themselves.
October, be good to me. 

Now Listening: Whomi - Tipper and Silver Cruiser - Röyksopp

Now Reading: 11/22/63 - Stephen King

Now Feeling : Alright, I guess

Gift Wrapper

I think this story would deserve the title Airport Love - Part 2 but somewhere in the middle of its conceptualization the current title became more fitting.

Try listening to My Body Is A Cage by Peter Gabriel when you're reading this. A macabre mood does you good sometimes.

If you listened to me, then you're reading this at the airport as you wait for your flight.

Looking around at plastic smiles, plastic baggage, plastic cups and breathing recycled.
So I decided to have a conversation that Im certain I wouldn't have the guts to do face to face.

Something that is better left unsaid. But since when have I followed my own advice?

We've been together, what, 7 years?

Maybe there have been surprises here and there, small bouts of suspense. But overall, our relationship has been nothing but predictable.
Like walking into a Nolan film expecting to be awed.
Or expecting a Mani Ratnam movie to have a happy ending.
Life doesn't always have happy endings. Something I learnt from you.

But I remember vividly, the first night we spent together. Camping somewhere near Perth.
I remember waking up next to you. I remember wanting to wake up next to you, even if there was no dawn and no sunset.

I remember watching you wake.

I remember cooking for you. Serving wine to an already intoxicating person.
I still want to drive through northern French countryside with you.
But cruelly enough, I want to drive back alone.

The feelings I had, I will forever have for you. But I think my want for expressing them has been satisfied. It reminds me of something my mother used to do. Something that I never clearly understood until now.

She took more care in unwrapping the gift paper than she took joy in enjoying the gift.

I think our relationship has reached a point where anything more is certainly a gift.

A Wrapped Gift.
But I'm so much in awe of how perfectly our previous conversations have ended that I'm too scared to tear open the gift wrapper.

That somehow, crazily enough, I will enjoy our memories more than the process of making more.

So when you return from your trip; nothing will have vanished.
Except for me.

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I enjoyed writing this story. Dont hate, appreciate.

Now reading - The Return of Bruce Wayne - Grant Morrisson

Now Listening - We Swarm - The Glitch Mob

Now Feeling - Uh, Tired

From The Eye Of A Husband

Hello.

Exam in 2 days and somehow I feel like writing only now haha.
What follows is a work of fiction. I dont know if its something Im proud of. But I havent written a story as free flowing as this one. This is written assuming an alternate way of thinking. And I assure you, this doesn't resemble my flow of thought. Much.
This is Mr Loisel's perspective of the events that take place in the short story called  "The Necklace" by Guy De Maupassant. Please read it if you intend on reading this. And bear with me if some elements dont make too much sense.

There's something terribly alluring about the sparks from a lighter's flint. Its a feeling that just lets you know that something interesting is to follow.
I dont think we've met. But Im Mr. Loisel to the world and the same, to you.
Im a clerk, a silent man, and a husband. Not necessarily in that order.

I don't have any savings, dont have a house to my name. Dont have more than 3 shirts including the one Im wearing now.
And yet, here I am. With a cigarette and a night sky view.
Long story short. We were poor (not as poor as we are now, but poor nevertheless). I gave all my savings to buy a dress my wife could wear to the ball. She loaned jewelry from her friend.
And she lost it. I've worked the past 12 years to repay that debt. We finally have. We're free now.
Or thats what I keep telling myself. Hoping that from the next time, I'll actually believe it.

I wonder everyday, how life would've turned out if Id just stuck with my initial plan of asking her to wear flowers to the ball. Or if Id decided to not show her the invitation at all, and bought a gun and shot some birds. (Pun unintended)

Im a 40 year old man and until a while back I thought that expecting someone to show you genuine care and love, and them not doing so is the most painful thing. But now, with a view so clear. With my hand on my heart, I can tell you; the hardest thing is giving someone all the love and all the care you can muster, and get none in return.

Why did Mathilde marry me? Im not great looking. Im not rich. But she stayed. Only to ruin my life.

40,000 francs. The mountains I could've moved had I earned that money willingly and not forcefully.

And what do I get for slaving away my entire life to account and cover up for the stupidity of my wife? Has she ever tried to compensate for the sorrow that I face everyday?

Cold turkey and soup for dinner. A sour mood for breakfast.

I think I lost my wife that night. Along with the necklace.
And I think I lost myself when I realized that.

Because I realized how stupid we are. How stupid we deliberately choose to be.
I love Mathilde. I love her beyond her faults. And I love her even though she's the reason I'll never see the good life.

And I love her even though we never talk now. And I love her.
She wards away my insecurities. And although Im unhappy with her, I think I wouldn't exist without her.

I blew a cloud. And waited for it to disappear.

I think life is like that cloud of smoke I just blew. Theres clarity for a second. A clarity that blocks your view of what's ahead of you. Then it disperses and merges with reality, and you're back to have never understood it at all.
I think we'll never be able to understand life. And that if we did, we'd certainly be missing the point.

Mathilde walks in on me, causing me to jump in surprise.

"I met Jeanne when I was strolling down Champs-Elysees", she said

She told me that the 36,000 franc diamond necklace we slaved was a replacement for a 500 franc fake necklace.

I think I smiled. I say "I think", because I felt so distanced from myself at that point, I could've been slapped in the face and I wouldn't have realized.

I lit another cigarette and asked Mathilde to sit next to me. And I told her, that Paris looked beautiful tonight, and so did she.

I blew a smoke ring. 

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Now Reading - Uh, nothing.

Now Listening : Pani Da - Vicky Donor