The Quarter Girl

20 Jul
Quarter Girl (QG) closes every night and reopens again every morning.
QG learns something new every day. Or relearns things gone old.
QG stays behind closed doors but has all her windows open. Throughout.
QG sponges on everything that is good around her – the gusts of wind, the rain, the smell of morning, the fatigue before settling in for the night, the words in her mind, the silence in her chaos. 
QG feels fickle, cornered and trapped. By what, remains elusive still.
QG admires, loves and lives.
QG fears her heart. She fears her mind more.
QG cares about her actions the least.
QG runs from bonds and commitments. Of any kind.
QG dreams of what she hopes will be a reality. In her dreams.
QG feels torn apart with nothing in between.

The Quarter Girl makes me want to stop, or pause. She makes me want to sit on a rocking chair and close my eyes. And perhaps sink into the pendulous stillness that lurks around the corner. She makes me want to live in that stillness, and stay in limbo till I’m ready to stop rocking back and forth and start thinking of moving again – whichever way I decide.

The Quarter Girl makes me believe that this is how the journey is going to be all my life. For a lover of travel, it makes me want to hold on, stay put and map my route out. Out of what, I don’t know. The tunnel’s a long one. And it’s pretty darn noisy, resounding with so much God knows what. I’m speeding along but still in the same place.

Maybe sitting on the rocking chair was a bad idea in the 1st place.



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