Wait and Hope…

When everything else was tried and nothing seemed to work, he waited. And when waiting seemed onerous, he pretended to do so. Because where he had reached there was nothing else he could have done other than waiting. He waited in anticipation of an answer or even a signal, but most of the times to just let this all pass – the pain, but more importantly the need to know its cause, the actions and what had led to them. And this act of waiting was worse than all he had faced. Was still facing. No matter how aggravating this act of waiting seemed, but it also happened to be the only consolation in his predicament. Or the only option.
And, what all one doesn’t do while waiting. He tried resuming his foreign language tutorials. But trying to understand an alien language doesn’t go well when you have been deprived of answers in your own language. He explored new hobbies. He tried painting but that only resulted in the wastage of the paper and the painting colours. Exercises resulted only in cramps, and the pains that occur on the next day.
Things that he liked the most just didn’t seem to work. Try as he might he found the books repelling, or the books were disgusted with him. Like an angry mother who wouldn’t let her son come close to her when disappointed in him. He would grab his favourite book and would smell it over, and read a few paragraphs in it. Words that once had such an influence over him seemed too distant. He loved them nevertheless. And he loved the way the pages smelt. You learn a lot when you read a book the second time. When you know that something (or someone) has nothing more left to offer, it is exactly then when the magic happens. And so he hoped.

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