I’ve been unable to leave my house.
We did many a night stays elsewhere. We were never homebodies – well maybe I was a bit, but not him. And even I never had this urge to just come back home.
Now i’m like a homing pigeon.
Wherever I go, even if it’s out of town, I have this nagging feeling that I have to go back home. It’s just me here now, and some eerie silence, but I feel comfortable here. On the sofa where we watched TV, on my corner of the bed, in the kitchen where we experimented – it’s our space, and I just want to make the most of my time here.
I don’t even know till when I can retain this place. It’s a rented house and some day i’ll have to give it up. I’ll have to pack everything and move. And perhaps even before that, his traces would be gone from here. Everyday something changes – something is moved, or stored away, or cleaned – and with each change his presence dims. Very slowly it’s started looking like just one person lives here. So before it all goes away, I just want to spend as much time as I can in this place. And therefore wherever I am, I run home.
I went to his parent’s place today – weekends are family time. Sometimes they come and stay here and sometimes I go there. But I don’t stay; I can’t. There are strings attached that pull me back, and I need my corner to sleep in.