BUTTERFLIES IN MY STOMACH

I have been feeling strange lately; like a hundred colorful butterflies flapping their wayward wings in my stomach. Sometimes I feel the weakening of the knees; I almost buckle down to surrender. There’s a mild nervousness in my ways, like a tight knot somewhere in the chest. My hands shake slightly; I blame it on sleep deprivation. I don’t know why I don’t sleep timely; it is amazing how I can lie in the dark, figuratively still and yet shaking within. I keep turning to look at the other side of the bed. It is almost like I will find a pair of eyes there, looking, into my eyes, despite the pitch darkness of the night, they will find their way, all the way to mine, collate the stories and reach a conclusion, a conclusion that I cannot reach, that is as endearing as it is nerve wrecking, that is as arousing as scary it could get. But then maybe I have called my peace with this nervousness; maybe I have furtively started savoring it, just like one would savor a breath of fresh air and dread when the plug will be pulled and suddenly there neither will be fresh air nor the need for it.

I have been feeling happy lately; like there is a piece of dark chocolate in my mouth throughout the day, a bitter sweet taste forever on my tongue and a head rush that is like a perpetual euphoria in broad daylight. I can lie on my bed and smile, read a book and not know the content; dress up with immense enthusiasm for no particular reason and constantly look mysterious to others. I keep watching the milk overflow from the vessel, I can doodle for hours together and I can wax poetic on something as flat as a ladle. The other evening I even sympathized with a roach, tried, tried harder, to take its life and while I was trying I saw it crawl away; like it did not see or perhaps didn’t care of me looming large as a life threat. In fact, I smiled at it too whereas my usual reaction would be to step on it so mercilessly that its dying wish is to die; sooner.

I have been in love lately.