Unguarded

For someone who always checks for exits after entering a room, carries an umbrella even in the month of May and dusts their shoes before wearing them, she is so out of character now.

Here we are- chasing pigeon out of my kitchen, dancing to romantic tunes in hot May afternoons and taking turns sipping lemonade from the same bottle, shoving serious topics under the carpet.

She isn't asleep when we lie on bed on lazy afternoons. She fidgets; she fidgets a lot.

Monsoon arrives that afternoon, before its time.

I know she isn't heading towards tragedy.
Since I don't see the blue handle of her umbrella peeking from her bag anymore.

She isn't heading towards tragedy.
She is becoming one.