The hand holding that never happened...

I am apprehensive about writing personal things in my blog. Because of my stupid headstrong nature I won't make this blog offline...but at times it feels almost as embarrassing as open PDA. Who are these people who read my blog? What draws them to it? Why can't they just leave me alone with my realizations and not intrude?

I was very young then. Almost a kid. Besides the usual best friend and my stupid boyfriend, I used to have yet another friend. He was very handsome. The current me would find his fair skin a bit effeminate (I like rugged men these days, if not rugged, at least unkempt) so it's the old me speaking when I call him good looking. Like all other periods of time in living memory (Rowena Ravenclaw's lost diadem), I used to write a diary then as well. The guy had borrowed my brother's cycle (something that my brother couldn't drive anyways) and subsequently took it away without our permission. But the story is not about that. The story is how I'd ride in front of him on that cycle. So, one day, while I was describing that ride in my diary, I wrote "কাঙ্খিত পুরুষ সঙ্গ" - a very difficult word no doubt - which literally means something quite simple - "desired company of a male". Ah, English can not be Bengali you see. In saying this I do not mean "company of a gigolo" or some such things. It is more of a Hum Tum thing. Hum ke bina Tum adhuri hai... I am incomplete without that man.

I was feeling my vertigo more than usual while getting down some broken staircase. "খুচরো পাপ, খুচরো পাপ" Rito went on saying in my ears, as he usually does, but dammit man, did you ever care? Why I went through all that, how I coped, how I struggle every moment to keep this vestige of a life going? It is so easy to abandon, isn't it? Then don't speak about my sins.

Is there a problem? - he said. A kid who was with our group. Yes, I am feeling scared. Vertigo? - he asked. I nodded, and he gave me his hand to hold. I can't describe in words the gratitude that flowed through me. Can't tell the agony of being thrust away to rot in hell by the people who you trusted. The despair of feeling like a beggar in this wide world. Can you give me some happiness and support? Please, I am very lonely. I hate to beg. It feels so good to hold a hand dammit, to be protected and cared for, to be respected and sheltered. How am I going to live for the rest of my life? I miss him, all the time. He's not my best friend or any of my ex boyfriends. He's the man who shouldn't have left me alone like this...

Facebook knows I am happy and holidaying. Blog knows (or at least can guess) that I am shedding copious tears while I write this...hence proved, yet another time... :)