Starting from the rainy week when tiles on the terrace turned slippery with green-black moss till today- when the moss has shrivelled to crisp black crust in mild sunshine of August, it feels it has been a while. It could have been years- considering how accommodating some adverbs can be, 'a while' could also mean years for all I know.
Now enthusiasm of rain is wearing off, puddles in the park have dried up forming small pits of soft damp soil. I think I have never seen seasons change so fast. Again, 'so fast' holds so much of generic meaning that at certain point of time I feel, it could have happened over several light years.
Maybe it's been years since I have been sober, years since I have given in to temptation, years since I have drowned in bleak lake of desire.
Maybe not, because withdrawl symptoms still kick in at unearthly hours- especially after a fugitive brief eye contact or a fleeting brush of her skin against mine. Maybe not, because I still find myself craving for the forbidden in a ridiculously absurd way, knowing it's poison intending to kill me softly.
So I tell you; and don't you scoff unless you have quit something you hold dear- it's only been hours since I quit her.
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