The One With Sunday Brunches

I remembered that last evening, we were discussing the most pretty sunsets we had ever seen. So, that’s why I left you a text, asking you to come out of the cubicle for a while as I saw a beautiful sunset and didn’t want you to miss it. But then a meeting with clients meant that it would have to wait for another day. Sunsets have always had a charm, one that makes me forget the world for a while. So, I clicked a picture. Your mobile beeped for the nth time during that meeting, and a pretty sunset popped up, one which you were almost going to miss. The meeting went on while texting continued as you wished for a real conversation. And then you casually mentioned how much that sunset now meant to you, the one which you were almost going to miss. Sunday Brunches

The conversation did happen. Words, silence, memories, stories, hopes and plans occupied the comfort zone between dusk to dawn. I have never been a morning person, but I loved being your sunrise. The days began with a lingering sensation of a beautiful sunrise I had imagined, while still lying in bed, talking to you.  That sunrise, however imaginary, had left a tiny spark somewhere, one which I tried to ignore. Trust me, I tried hard, because you know I am a strong, independent woman who believes in sunsets more than sunrises. But doesn’t a sunset evidently mean a sunrise is happening somewhere in the world, far far away?

You know, to me, sunsets are more real because I see them happening. Sunrises, well, they are for other people. I don’t even know who these people are, who get to see a sunrise, contemplate around with thoughts, read the morning newspaper, have breakfast over meaningful conversations and then leave for work. I would have preferred if mornings began at noon. Always rushing through them like a race against time, which I eventually lose. Braving the rush hour traffic and trying to not be cranky to people around me- that’s what mornings mean to me. But,with you, I remember I saw the magic of orange tearing through a dark sky. Was it a piece of fiction I didn’t write or was I imagining it? I have hardly seen a few sunrises in my life, so, to me, they seem like an illusion. Just like you are today, as I talk to yet another empty chair, of course by yet another window. It’s another fact that the heart desires for it to be real.Sunday Brunches Sunday Brunches Sunday Brunches

The illusion of a sunrise left behind, now, my mornings begin at noon. Breakfast isn’t real either. Today, as I sit by the window, enjoying yet another brunch, my mind wanders to the times when mornings were difficult yet beautiful at the same time. And to the empty chair, I murmur, wish you were here. Sunday Brunches Sunday Brunches