Who is he?

“I’m better than that.” She thought to herself. She wasn’t insomniac; she just didn’t want to sleep. There was that tormenting feeling she wanted to throw to the wind, or perhaps, to nurture until it reached its peak. She knew she could cry it off, but she didn’t want to. She knew she could no longer do that. She’s been noticing the weird things that unacknowledged feeling has been pushing her to do, she felt like an attention seeking teenager, and it annoyed her to death, but that feeling, that wicked wicked feeling refused to go away. It haunted her. It made her examine the faces of perfect strangers, she saw him everywhere, but he was never there. “But wait!” she had to stop and ask herself. “Who is he?”

She remembered that teller in the bank. Oh, how much he looked like him! She used to stare at him while standing in the line to cash her paycheck. Perhaps it should’ve bothered her. Perhaps she should’ve changed her bank, but it doesn’t matter now, because he no longer looked like him.

“Who is he?”

She remembered the last time they spoke. He was so mean, or at least not as nice as she wanted him to be. Many times has she promised herself she wouldn’t do it again, but that feeling, that wicked wicked feeling would budge in and push her to throw her pride to the wind. But that last time they spoke was more than she could take, she knew that had to stop. But that doesn’t matter now, because it was no longer the last time they spoke, in fact, they haven’t said a word yet.

She remembered that look on his face, it had puzzled her for sometime. Maybe it was the look of regret, or maybe it was that of nostalgia, but it doesn’t matter now because whatever it was it was long washed away down the stream. There was now a new look, one she didn’t get to see and was afraid to interpret in any way.

“Who is he?” the question loomed again. He could be the answer or the question. Could be the end of one misery and the beginning of another. He could be a dream come true or a walking nightmare. He’s been there before she was born and will continue to be remembered long after she’s forgotten. “Who is he?” She had no idea, and the question sounded too loud in her head that it almost deafened her. Perhaps she passed him that morning on the street. He was looking for her too.

“Who is he?” She knew very little.

“Who is he?” She couldn’t tell, but one thing she could tell for sure…

He is not a person.

Originally Posted on Tuesday, October 14, 2008 on http://oeliwat.jeeran.com/archive/2008/10/700556.html

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