Reading Time: 3 min
He could see the sky turning blue.
A rue smile broke on his face as he realized that he had spent the entire night on the canal bank. He tried to stand up but stumbled. His feet had slept. His body was sore. His hands felt numb. He was numb; it was cold, yes, but he couldn’t care less for the weather.
He felt his stomach rumbling. He had not eaten since the early dinner after which he left home in a hurry. He had wandered aimlessly and with some luck, he landed up in place. The silent waters, the rocking boats, the mist slowly forming over the sea reminded him of the place he grew up. He left that place when his parents moved out of the village. Now this place seemed like a proxy for the only home he ever missed. Lonely, happy, gloomy, crazy, angry he always found himself here. So, he was not surprised that he ambled here again last night.
All it took were four words – I never loved you. These words were repeatedly running through his head for the past 10 hours. He had made a home in the city for the past two years, from scratch. Not just a home, but a tangible future, a beautiful present, memories strewn from minuscule incidents, creating a life worth living. That home, which he realized over the night, was built on lies; that life was a pedestrian house-of-cards.
He knew he needed to go home. He got up and dusted himself. As he took a step he smiled, he realized he does not have a home anymore. He sat down, with a more confident smile. This was the only place where he felt home.
You can see more travel pics on my Instagram. Themes of heartbreak and recovery form a central tenet in a lot of my stories. You can find another completely unrelated story here.
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