The wait in chains!

I had returned to the call of the bells. I had come back to where my shackles bound me to. The beautiful garden was somewhere at the back of my memory now. It had all been dreamlike, the garden,the pigeons, him, holding hands, watching the sunset. It had been too good to be true. But, all very soon, it had come to an end. Now, sitting on the cot, surrounded by the four grey walls, it felt as if I had only dreamt all that up. I sat debating with myself how real it had all been. The sunset, the garden, the bench, him sitting by me, how beautiful it had been. It felt like something that I had dreamt up.

But then, the hand that I had felt, holding mine, grasping mine tightly, had been true. The fingers that had wiped the tears had been true. I still felt the tears clinging to my lashes. I let them escape yet again. No one to wipe them now. I was all alone all over again. The wait had begun. Patience was not one of my virtues. So, it hurt even more. With tears clouding my vision, I looked up from where I was sitting.

I looked at the four grey walls that surrounded. They weren't just plain, grey walls. There was writing all over. Wiping the tears clouding my eyesight, I looked at the walls. At places, I could see poems of love, full of love, so many that I had written for him. He would never see them. Never, ever. At places, I had waged my verbal war with God. I had complained to him, about the shackles that bound me. I knew, the time for freedom would come. But, it was still far away. Patience wasn't my virtue. No.

The time for yet another wait, a long wait had begun now. The wait, for when he would come next, to grant me temporary freedom. It would be worth the wait, I knew. That was only thing that kept me going. It was uncertain when he would come next, to see me. But, he would. He always did. He would hold my hand and whisper sweet things in my ears, making me laugh, an unfamiliar sound within these four walls. I tried to bring a laugh out, trying to remember how it sounded. But, it got stuck somewhere in my throat. The laughter seemed to have been reserved for our times together. Instead, a sob escaped. I had to stop myself. I had again, to go through the ordeal of the wait. I wasn't ready. I never was. I am waiting for my escape. I am.

For now, I waited for that next time, when I would feel happy all over again. Next time, when I would see him, and hold his hands and feel his presence. Life would be beautiful again, temporarily. I would smile, and then cry. The relief would be temporary. The day would come, when he would break the shackles that bound me and would take me away. He would take me away to a world of freedom, love and beauty of love. I wait. I will wait.