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Dear Diary III

On 4 December 2014, Silva wrote in his diary,

I cannot take this anymore. I feel inadequate when I am not around her. I feel poisoned when I imagine her bonding with somebody else, telling them the same stories she told me, laughing with them in that same obscene way she laughed with me. When she repeats her stories to them, I almost wish she is bored, going over the same details with undeserving people, pondering over characters we pondered over together, matching their curiosity with hers. I wish she feels uninspired to tell her stories after this. Such is my misery. I want her to forget her stories so nobody comes seeking them.

They haven’t earned her stories the way I have. I have worked really hard to be here and it breaks my heart to see that now, other people have the same knowledge of her that I do. They will all know now, the laugh in her eyes, the story behind her wounds, her careless moles I thought only I could touch. They will all know now how she moans when she is about to climax, how she digs her fingers into flesh, body and bone when she is aroused, how the shape of her back looks in maddening darkness.

I cannot tell her all this. Because she keeps her promise. When she is with me, I know she is with me, in body, soul and mind. It’s what happens after, I have no control over that, and maybe it’s good that I don’t. I don’t know if I can feel the same way I do now, if she was mine everyday and day after day. What would we say to each other? How will we have stories if we haven’t lived outside of one another, far away most days and really far away on some days?

I know I must seek other people and their stories if I want to keep her in my life. I am just scared. What if she feels nothing? What if she feels happy when I have sought them?

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In Between

When in Goa, watch Magadheera

I was watching Magadheera. I was minutes away from sleeping all by myself for the first time in my life and I was watching a movie so lame, it was that good. The cottage was lovely. It wasn’t too far from the beach so I could listen to it and wasn’t too close so if a Tsunami came swimming by, I could make a quick exit. I think Magadheera will be my favourite movie for a long time now because it kept me company when I was trying to postpone the grand event of finally switching all the lights off to sleep. That yellow bottle of pepper spray could only do so much. I kept it close by at all times, but I knew when the time came, it would not be able to do much. I was able to forgive its uselessness sooner than I thought. I didn’t need it though. The occasion never arose. But I was scared, my toes kept feeling it all night. There were strange noisy men around the cottage. Their noise kept me up and I slept restlessly. The morning was innocent, like all mornings are. As if my toes hadn’t curled up at all, as if the men and their voices hadn’t reminded me of all those rape and revenge movies I had binge watched long ago, as if the morning was a different morning, tail to another event-less night at home. It wasn’t a memorable night but it was my first time alone away from home.