Not Waiting

 

I find myself waiting, or not waiting, for something to happen. Not out of a need for excitement, no. It is rather like looking up at a cloudy sky, knowing that the downpour is only a matter of time, and dreading it. In desperation, I grope for the commonality of a day, and grip every mundane event with pale fists. The ringing of the kettle at the same time every evening thrills me to my core. The opening of the room doors, a little after each other, and the running of the shower every morning makes me smile in delight. The distinct sound of footsteps as they plod down the stairs excites me as I rubberneck to take in their groggy faces still disgruntled from being awakened by the regular calls of duty. My smile stays even if it goes unanswered.

The efforts of those trying to escape the ordinary only makes it more so, but I do not find that distasteful; such quiet days need disquiet to be wanted again. There is so much in an unremarkable day. It houses the fondest of memories and richest of experiences. For what is richer than to live through multitudes of little delights every single day that one grows accustomed to the pleasures, and attempts to look away for a short while? No, it is the dismissal of such days that I find distasteful. The disdain with which some regard the unremarkable day, like a phenomenon to be dodged at all costs. Restless and fitful they are, and as such, rash and careless. Unremarkable days must first be swept off by the winds of change, before we realise that they are gone, at which point only one question remains: can we remember?

The stretch of a long and uneventful day pleases me. It finds its way through the alleys of my mind and lies in wait for me, for I am sure to come. When days are no longer as unremarkable, I am sure to seek it out. To be reminded once again how it used to feel like when the days ran their course, and all we had to do was watch and listen. The memory of unremarkable days, I pray, will linger, and when a remarkable day arrives, I hope to spend its last hours looking into the kind eyes of the former, and be awash with blissful ordinariness again. But let me bid my time.