We sit watching each other. Adorning the silence of our unsaid words. A car whizzes past every few minutes, and then, it is just the whistle of the trees as they reiterate our emptiness. I feel drained. In the last few hours, we have learned so much about each other. Things no one else will ever understand. The brokenness of our souls now made whole again. Not regretting any of it. A sense of abandonment that can only be shared with a select few. The once-in-a-lifetime kind of people. Who walk into your life and turn it upside down, inside and out. Leaving no stone unturned.
This was our sixth meeting. Probably the last one before a period of hiatus. I loved talking to him. It made me feel better. I didn’t feel like a mess anymore. My rants were just that. I wasn’t being judged for being me. A word that is as elusive as cupping water in my palms. The silence never overwhelming. Just someone who sits by my side and patiently listens to all that I have to lay bare. Things that are embedded deep in my subconscious. Things I never wanted to visit again. Digging into the ugly face of forgotten scars that will perhaps never be forgiven…
Bio: Shloka Shankar is a freelance writer residing in India. Her work appears in over two dozen anthologies includinqg The Dance of the Peacock, Emanations IV, The Living Haiku Anthology, Family Matters, The Traversal of Lines, and Eastern Voices among others. Her poems, erasures, haiku & tanka have appeared in numerous print and online journals. She is also the founder and editor of the literary and arts journal, Sonic Boom.