The vacuum

Then there is the problem with life that is her own, when left to herself.

At present, there is no idea, no person, no thing – nothing at all to engage her core. Actually, there never was. She is slowly coming to grips with the fact that she has been carrying around this empty core in herself. She thinks it is called ageing. That thought, however, is scarier. A gradual greyish-blueing of all colours. Moss building on shiny memories. The growing passion for being left alone. This passionate ambivalence towards loneliness.

Why does she want to be alone? Because she likes to savour the emptiness that is deep in her. She needs some time and space around her to do that. But, she also knows that this vacuum is slowly seeping out, creeping into her whole being. It is slowly taking control of the rest of her. She knows that she cannot afford this luxury for too long. She knows she needs to plug it, fill it. With something. Sometime soon. But till that time, she would relish the nihilism. So she comes to the café, where, if she wants to, she can straddle both worlds – of one and of many.