Spectator


she looked at them as a part of the scene- 
that was unfolding in front of her. 
then, she silently stepped back, 
crossing over the imaginary line- 
that separated her from them. 

everything seemed to be the same 
except the now empty space 
where she once stood. 
no one seemed to notice it though. 

it was then that she realised, 
her presence made no difference at all 
and so was the case with her absence.
it was she who wanted to be a part of everything 
and of everyone's life, 
irrespective of whether it was called for, or not. 

some people did not notice her, 
ignored her, some whispered behind her back 
while some spit right in her face, 
humiliated her, signalling her out of their life. 
yet, she stuck there, glued with her love for them. 

shameless, and caring all the same 
because she believed and 
would believe till the end of her life 
that love wins and the care and concern 
would be able to change people's attitude for good.

they might not be needing her right now 
but given a chance to miss her, 
they would sooner or later understand 
what is missing from their life. 
the empty space, 
a vacuum in their life, 
waiting to be filled. 

they would make her step in again, 
be a part of the scene. 

until then she would watch them, 
rather - watch over them from outside the line. 
listening to what is being said, 
seeing what is being done. 
acknowledging the few glances 
sometimes thrown in her direction. 
she would not be invisible however, 
she would not be clearly visible, too.




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Books by Arti Honrao

Depression is REAL

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