I’m not here

Sometimes, I’m not here. When you are talking to me, watching my expressions change on cue with every word you say, I’m not here. I’m listening, but I’m not here.
[dropcap]W[/dropcap]ords are coming out of my mouth in response, but I’m not here. You won’t know when it happens. It’s not an obvious going-away. Not a turning of the back and walking in the opposite direction kind of a departure. No, it’s not. With or without warning, something triggers inside sometimes. Inside my soul, if I may call that which resides in me, a dramatic upheaval takes place. Not just a metaphorical change, more of a tangible one. A switching of atoms, a shuffling of molecules. Or like I once imagined before,a shifting of my biological tectonic plates that makes me another me. One that goes spiraling into worlds that I can’t explain the existence of, myself. Yet, they are there. Those worlds. My worlds. And this other me is there… in them. And all you can see, despite the fact that an earthquake of dramatic proportions happened inside me, is the madness manifested as a very subtle faraway look in my eyes. And only if you look closely enough can you spot it. Otherwise, you’ll believe I’m here. When I’m not.
Bloom

Bloom by Lovell D’souza on Flickr.

Close up of a flower in bloom at the Shalimar garden in Srinagar.