The Twin Droplets

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Smoke swirled out her mouth and from her sweet yet tiny nostrils as she pulled away the cigarette from the pink lips, bereft of any lipstick. Shine and freshness of the skin on the column of her nose was evident that she been to the parlour recently. She still had love for make up, style and for performance. She still loved to be at the centre stage. But at this moment on her morning bed, she was different than what she had been to others. She was just herself, trying to find and give meaning for her own entangled relationship in the space between the two droplets that were tirelessly skidding down her bedroom’s huge French window glass.
The black coffee on her bed table had yielded to her and her bedroom’s coldness long back. With her under part still burrowed below the covers, and the upper body loosely covered by a woollen pullover, she was transfixed on the two droplets. Contemplating and trying to find meaning in the fragments of her own transient affair. The affair, though transient, had forced her into contemplation. It was neither pain, nor joy. It was neither a defeat nor a victory. It was neither dejection nor acceptance. It was nothing, but something. That ‘something’ which, she had tried to figure out often in her solitary moments, but never had been able to nail it down.
The rose at the bottom of the windowpane had matured and mellowed. From the fresh red, now it radiated a deep mature maroon colour in its petals. It had not deviated from its natural course of maturing. It had seen so many of the dew drops skid down the window pane every morning, but it had never yielded to the sorrows of the dew drops that failed to meet and merge into a single droplet. Despite the everyday tragedy that it witnessed on the glass pane and inside the room, it had followed its course and mellowed into maturity. She envied this maturity.
She felt the pain of the droplets when they were forced to evaporate into the air by the rising sun. There were only few inches away from each other. They would have converged and made into each other, if only they would have made efforts- she would think. Today, she again got up from her bed clenching the cigarette stick in between her lips. She tenderly walked on the wooden parquet floor, as if her feet were making every effort to save any crawlers from being crushed. Skin pores on her naked legs were raised as a response to the cold that prevailed in the room. The smoothness of her skin had given away their control to the chill in the room and in her heart. She remained indifferent to what her own skin was feeling. She kept moving on towards window and kept her gaze transfixed on the two droplets.

Photo Courtesy of 123rtf

“A mighty pain to love it is,And ’tis a pain that pain to miss;But of all pains, the greatest painIt is to love, but love in vain.”  

― Abraham Cowley

Her silhouette was reflecting on the glass pane. In her glorious glamorous moods, such a silhouette would have melted the coldness in the room and heated up every inch of it. It would have made the rose, which laughed at her, to shy away from her transient youth’s eternal glory. For, she was in the best days of her transient youth. Her life had much more for her in store, but she had been lately involved with her oneself.  Even more involved in finding meaning of the distance between sky and earth, between two droplets and between two souls.
Today again she touched the glass from inside, to make another of her futile efforts, to merge the two droplets together. Another attempt to erase their individual and futile existence and to give them a collective and meaningful identity. An identity that could enable them to have some moments of being in each other before they would evaporate by yielding to the unrelenting sun. She pressed her palm on the glass and kept pressing it hard. She could feel the coldness of the window and the inherent coldness in the droplets. Both were cold- bereft of any warmth- that could instill some feelings into the droplets for being with each other.
Once again a deep agony burned deep inside her. Once again, warm teardrops, heated by the burning realization, floated down her cheek involuntarily. Once again she had remained a mute spectator to the absurd annihilation of two droplets who otherwise could have some meaningful existence. Once again she hammered the same question on her conscience- Why is there a distance between two souls, if they want to be with each other? Once again her question rebounded back to her from the hollowness of her mind. And once again, she went into reclusion of her glorious past to avoid her otherwise present.

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