She sat there...wondering where it was all going. She saw time slipping away from her fingers in wispy smokiness; volatile as ever and combining with some worldly whole where minutes and seconds and years gathered.
Changes had visited her- some taking permanent residence in the little triangle she had drawn around herself and called her life. Yes, it had always been a triangle. A circle meant repeated events and viciousness or happiness taking turns to play host. A square was way too balanced to be called her own. A triangle it was- sharp and pointy- sometimes balancing a plane, sometimes poking at everything with intense curiosity and at others-just way to confused and stretching everywhere.
So much had happened from then till now, and yet, so little. Outwardly and inwardly, she had grown. But some bits of her older self, she had retained-obstinately rebutting all attempts that life made to shift her stand.
And today, something was missing inside. There was that deep gnawing ache of purposelessness; rather, the state of existence where you've not quite figured the meaning of anything.
She fell afloat and not in that giddy euphoric weightlessness, but like a boat lolling about within a viscous liquid, trying to cleave its way across. There was no arrow-straight precision path that she could take nor a murky resignation she could adopt. Till some giant oar once more paves its way to upturn the boat and set it on sail, nothing she did would make a difference.
She was not depressed, but neither was she particularly happy. This was that median point where one could not chalk out physical boundaries of separation.
She drifted... with a little sliver of hope as armament.