Year: 2019
Location: Baltimore, Cork, Ireland

Day 1:
Much like the last bird, this one comes and swoops up the snail. This one’s the last, I think. I can’t seem to catch any fish. The last time I had, was when I had come out to the sea with my dad.
Since the day mom drove the car into the tree, I come here daily to catch a fish. I just don’t catch any though. But what else can I do? I have been ordered a leave of 6 months because I’m in trauma and shock. So, I come out to catch a fish. Take a dip in the pool. Count the time it takes me to walk all around the house. Watch the same repeated TV. I have a cook and servants who take care of things. I survive. The sunsets atop the hill, mocking me.

Day 2:
I have a neighbor, an old man. Comes over with some food. Calls me for dinner. I say I have work. I don’t want to see another human being. I want to be at peace, and that is only when I’m not with any people. I go to the pond and notice a girl sitting there. To avoid any company, I just return to my car. I see she’s looking at me. Back in my room, as I sit sipping this old whiskey, the sun tames me to write poetry again. To express my pain or praise the beauty it owns with elegance.

Day 3:
The neighbor comes back. This time with a drink in his hand. Asks me what I do. I’m respectful but non-conversing. He gets the cue and leaves me alone. I walk to the deck to see If I catch any fish today. I sit for hours. Nothing. She comes and sits next to me. We don’t speak. I get up to leave. She says, “it’s so peaceful out here”. I look at her and she’s smiling. I like her face. It’s soft. Her lips ever so gentle. I just collect my things and I leave. I can’t see her any more in my rear view as the sunlight perfectly aligns with her at horizon.

Day 4:
I don’t see my neighbor today. I guess he’s gone for work. I go to the pond, with a slight hope of seeing the girl again. I see her coming towards me. I know she caught me looking at her. I don’t greet her though. I can hear her sit next to me. Out of the corner of my eye I catch her smiling at me again. This time because of my embarrassment. I’m tired and I get up to leave. She greets me a good night.
I can’t sleep now. I keep thinking of the girl. Am I becoming attached to her. I didn’t use to like people. Since a long time. What’s this? I decide not to go to fish the next day.

Day 5:
The neighbor is alive. Running his loud lawn-mover. I want to go and shout at him, but then I realize that would take me to talk to him, I just put a pillow over my ears. The sound goes down immediately. I go out and thank him. I think I smile. I sit back now wondering when the last time was I had felt the touch of a woman. For a change looking at my shadow over the wall pleases me.

Day 6:
I drive to the pond but wait in my car to see if the girl turns up. She doesn’t, and I get out of the car with my gear. I sit there as usual to at least catch one this time. I feel the impending sadness creep in me. Was I missing her? I had never ached to be with anyone for a constant. I can’t clear my mind I get up and leave. I lie on my bed with my eyes fixed on the rotating fan. This has been my life. Going around in circles. In a routine. The sunsets over the highs. Everything always was planned for me. This girl wasn’t. And today this sunsets over plains.

Day 7:
I am unsure of what I am feeling. I have an invitation to the local bar today for a game of card and a couple of cold ones. I go there, more for the unlimited supply of magic water. After getting completely flushed and a couple of blows, my neighbor I think gets me back to my house. I say, I don’t need his sympathy as I was fine on my own.
I lie there struggling with my closing eyelids. Thinking about how my goals changed from representing my country to surviving the next day. Was I suicidal? That was why I was given this break and a prescription to follow up with a psychiatrist, who has left 7 messages on my phone already? I curse in frustration over all the things that won’t speak back. I blame the old sunsets and rising moon for giving people crazy hopes and happy dreams.

Day 8:
I check the fridge for the ice cubes and come up with old rotten pizza. Looking at the literal shit I was living in, I pity myself but leave things in the state they already were.
I see the girl dressed in her prettiest. Or so I feel. I can’t stop glancing at her. I want to talk to her. Now can I though? I look at her way, and this time am caught. She asks me why am I looking at her like that? Embarrassed I ask her why she was there?
I see my neighbor working hard on his garden again. I lie on the grass of my overgrown front and shout, “You can hire a gardener for this work”. He reverts, “So can you”. I ask him why is he alone? Then we chat about his dead wife and life goals. I was waiting for him to condole me. He didn’t. I have a good neighbor I jotted in my head.
I tell him about this girl. He asks me if I like her? I say I like to see her. He goes about his story of meeting his wife and just like that we share our dinner. The sun sets in the cloud. It’s like a vanishing Houdini. The sun hides behind the cloud as the moon peaks from the other side.

Day 9:
I decide to talk to this girl today. I can’t bear the uneasiness of this silence. The silence which I had grown into. Which I had so gotten used to. That was the high for me and now it’s waning off. I need to stop this. Or do I?
I drive to the pond and see that she’s already there, reading. I go straight to her. She gently smiles at me. I bend down and kiss her. She hits me and gives me a stern look.
But then we kiss again. And again. Gentle lips on hard ones. I could hear her breathe slow. In between our kisses. We lie there on the deck, talking about stars, songs, Shakespeare. She holds my hands to her chest. I don’t feel the withdrawal. She says she needs to go, and I didn’t want her to. The silence between us now seemed bliss. And I wanted her to be there. To hear her breathe, to see her look at them stars. She leaves now. The old stereo playing songs of love and moon together. Now I feel the warmth in it. So many songs relating to woman, moon and love. Just like her.

Day 10:
I wake up early and decide to clean up my place. I think about how I’ll ask her to join me for dinner here. I go to my neighbor and borrow his mixer, after a long time I am going to cook. My neighbor whistles as I leave with the ice-cubes and the mixer. I go to the dock early and wait for her to return. I meet up with her and request her to join me for dinner tonight. She says she can come but. I say we will talk later and rush back to get the food ready. She comes to my place and we sit on the roof, looking at the glowing night sky. The hot food and the cold wine complement each other perfectly. I feel the proudness of a chef when she goes for another swoop of the dish. I see her smile, but her eyes speak gloom. Does she feel the way I feel? Are we really that alike? We finish our dinner and I get her another glass of wine. She sips it and I reach out for her hand. Why was she feeling so out of place today? I ask her if she’s alright. She rests her head on me and can see a tear escape her eye. She wipes it and tells me she needs to leave. I ask her what’s the rush, but she just says that she must leave. We kiss again, and more than the passion, there’s longing now. She leaves and I’m left waiting for the next sunset.

Day 11:
I go to my neighbor’s place to apologize for the nuisance I was, a couple of days back. I tell him I am in love with this girl. He comments, “a girl you feel really attached to, when you are down in the gutter, she is the one for you”. I smile at the thought of her and me together. A future togetherness. A chance of being us. A hope to look at the sunsets with a smile.

Day 12, Morning:
I dress in my best jacket and get in my car. As I drive to her place, an innocent anxiety engulfs me. What if she says no? She can’t. I can see it in her eyes. In her soft kisses. In the comfort she is to me.
I check my hair and get down from the car. I knock on her door. Once, twice. An old woman opens the door. I ask for the girl.
The sun slows down at the horizon. A tinge of orange over the blue. It’s nothing pious that the old poet wouldn’t frown upon. For his muse was in the structure and color of it. Lost to the wide sky, the orange bows to fade away. As I sit back in my room and sip the whiskey, I look at the last ray of light turn to a complete null.