Closure.

Three knocks on the door that don't ask ' are you in?' but demand admittance. Door opens,

"You're a welcome change! Would you like to come in?"
Graceful entrance, unrushed.

"What would you like to do? Play a game?
Talk? Negotiate(,) if you prefer"

Responds by holding up a tea mug?

"Oh tea! That's fine by me. I'd like some myself thank you very much"

Tea poured into cups, two swift smooth motions. At the same time, boasting about clean nails. just for a second.

"Hey! I saw that. Are you mocking my incompetence?"

Perhaps all this is because of schooling. Strangers aren't allowed in the hostels I hear.
The past, that is.
The dust has settled, why make it rise? But isn't it better to live without dust at all?
The past, that is.
The show is almost over, let us smile during the finale at least. But are we thinking about the same show?
The past, that is.

Enough! The past, that is? was, no?
Lovely. eyes meet eyes. At last there is something, even if it is reproach.

"All right, now that we're done with tea... movie?"
slides the phone. talks in a wordless whisper? Yes, there are other people. Its not just me.

I return to my music. We bond noisily as wordless whispers continue.

Call is over now. Hands twitch. Eyes dart. Unrushed yet restless.

Time for a dance? Slow waltz or steamy salsa?
suddenly. Music gets louder, milk boiling on the stove, door bells ringing madly.

"Can't dance now!"

Phew!
Later,I begin to look. find what I want on the easy-chair.
Head on the knees, listening to music.

A hesitant rapprochement "we'll pass time by telling stories?"

"Oh sure sure. strictly about others."

There is laughter, sadness and everything in between. Now what?...
Fingers speak of possibilities.

And then the error. Down came the rain and washed the spider out.
"I must work, you know." Not a torrent of words, but maybe a torrent of meaning.

just as suddenly exits. Call from an Ideal perhaps.

But the door is left open.... And there is the phone... But these murmurs are drowned by the silence - vacant chair, empty tea cup and missing head phones. Music, but no headphones. Memories, but no canvas.
Past, no present.

But surely, there's no dance without music?
Wake up! Look around!

Wealth exists without wisdom.

P.S. - The noise of feet crunching gravel signaled the end. I couldn't bear to look. Not into the eyes. Not even at the graceful hand gestures. And the bangle-sound as she made the gestures. not like the not-looking made it any easier. But looking would perhaps acknowledge the truth - that I remain vulnerable. The end is never final - doesn't ensure the cessation of the hurt. Not sure what it does. Matchstick boy what will he do?