Confessions are weird things. You unravel yourself, little knowing that you are getting tied up with that person.
It was 4.00 am. [No I do not have an obsession with that time, but it happens so that the most interesting of events tend to occur then].
A dim passage. It smelled of old bedsheets. A dizzy head. There is noise in the background. But it gets muffled by the high spirits. It is almost soothing. She leans on the wall opposite mine and slides down to the floor. I sit too. Words are not hurried. [Those in hurry, after all, do not lean against walls of dim passages smelling like bedsheets.]
Like an avalanche, the words cascaded; unexpected, cruel. Anger, shame, guilt. Darkness like none other. Digging into graves. A disgust no language can dare to convey. "You are the only person who knows this". That sealed it. The bond between us. There was no language for comfort either.
Just silence in the dim passage.
The pain was hers, not mine. Why was it then, that i fought to remove shards of glass from my chest?