Corner of the room.


I watched her walk away from me and sit as far as possible.

Having a fight in a single room is difficult.

You can keep quiet, and bottle up your anger, but the sheer vibrations of it fill up the space.

She was sitting in “her” corner. For the purposes of a fight, we had designated spaces for each other. Ironic, considering corners are for fighters, between rounds.

But it was best for the children.

She flipped the pages of the book I had given her a few days back.

And I stared simultaneously at three different screens.

She had her nose scrunched up a bit, the way she always does when frowning. It used to look pretty, but now it just showed the wrinkles in her face, and her profile had roughened over the years.

Age had not treated her well.

But, who am I to complain? She’s disregarding my accumulated flab of years as well.

It is nice, knowing there is someone constant, irrespective of the waistline.

Granted, it’s not always nice to sit in two corners like errant children.

It is not always nice to bear the presence of someone else, when you might want loneliness.

I wish I could walk off in a huff, and I have done that enough times. And she has let me back in, sheepishly maybe, but I had the freedom to walk back in.

She has also strayed. You get bored of the familiar face after a while, I suppose.

I’m still staring at the screens, but I want to go over to her and make it okay.

Even now, after all these years, it is not a question of who says sorry first, it is a question of who gets tired of the silence first.

We have had enough and more fights and some days I want to give it all up and get a different room.

But when I look back at the last twenty years, I realize, having someone in the room is good.

Even if it’s not in your corner.


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