By Neetu Ralhan
Virginia Last night, I watched Virginia agonize over writing and not writing, over feeling empty [having given her all to a manuscript], over not knowing what to write next, over watching herself succumb to love and then having to live through betrayal. I watched, intently, her perennially welled-up eyes, as if in anticipation of the next tragedy. I watched her speak of death as if one was the artist and the other muse, though I cannot say which was which. I meditated over the words that left her mouth and those that didn’t. As she stood on the river’s edge, contemplating its depth, I stood by her side and wondered what it would be like to simply disappear. I listened, mesmerised, as she disrobed a love so beautiful and utterly complete just so the truth underneath could come up for air. I marvelled at her effortlessness with words and the effort it took her to speak them. And as she disappeared — yet again — into the solitary depths of her mind, I wondered what it would be like to have a room of one’s own.
Neetu Ralhan is a writer and editor based in Gurgaon, India. Her poems have been published in The Mind Creative by Avijit Sarkar and eFiction India. She writes poetry at https://sllipofthepen.wordpress.com/
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