An Ordinary Mind

Dear T,

Lets start from where we left. Rather, you left – in a hurry, as if the world depended on you buttoning your shirt. You jumped off the window and you ran to save someone. No one knows who. Neither do you. But you ran, nevertheless – you were always a great runner, and its a pity you waste that on saving people who do not, in the least, want to be saved – away from me. You must remember you were thinking of running away even when there wasn’t a hint of confusion between our bodies – when our noses sauntered hand in hand and your lips were like a fallen leaf lapping every ounce of the infinite space, before falling on its back. I could have made you the tree in the last image but trees don’t run and also, a fallen leaf carries with it the utter imbecilic insignificance and crippled roving of your thoughts that night. What was I thinking? you must think, if you have forgotten. I’ll tell you, because I have not.

Not only can I read minds but I can write them. And you were lucky I left yours untouched that night. But it was hard not to look beyond those brown eyes. Last eight years there hasn’t been a night I haven’t gone back to that serene confusion in your eyes, to that moment when I decided I would have a look what’s beyond the shiny surface. You remember you always told me that you were just an ordinary man, and I always strictly disputed that and told you that you had the most beautiful mind. Well, that night I came to know that you were right. I was seeing the inordinate ordinariness of an astonishingly singular mind, almost special, if I can say, in its singularity. I started noticing the incongruities of my body – the little more hair here, the little less hair there, the insolent rise of the nose, the disastrous fall of the breasts – that stood like absolutes in your eyes, and I ended up, stranded, twice removed from myself. Its not that you weren’t trying. You were. You always wanted to get past the carnal pitter-patter but the sheer ordinariness of your mind doesn’t let you go beyond that extra facial hair. I sometimes almost pity you. It must be frustrating to have all the strength in the world but still not enough to face a soul.

But what was I thinking? I remember that too. As I told you earlier I decided to look what’s beyond. And as I found nothing but a vivid nightmare, as real as your nose, I started hating – first myself, then you. And that hatred was not something abstract, it was right there, flesh and blood, holding you and kissing you – it was like being pregnant with it. I could feel my blood curdling to create another me inside my body and I felt it grow and take hold of my entire being, right from the red meaty parts to the little hair on my lip that I saw in your eyes.

It was good that you left, or else I would have killed you. And what would have been the fun in that? There’s nothing that salvages an average moralistic mind as death. More fun is to see you live, while others die. More on this in the next letter, or newspaper – whichever comes first.

H

P.S. Something on my soul; flourishing.





This letter is a part of a superhero series that I’m working on. To know more about the man this letter is addressed to, click here. And the lady who has written this letter, well, I hope I will soon write more on her.

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