Sometimes...

IV

Sometimes, she rides on the crest of the wave like the Chinese dragon-rider from her childhood. She loses count of day and time, flying with the moist breeze.

Sometimes, she somehow wants to whip and push the day, the week, the month with all her might waiting for an oasis which never appears.

Only sometimes, though.

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V

Sometimes, she wonders what if she just vanishes, one day, like those on the ‘missing’ columns in the newspaper. Or perhaps like the Cheshire Cat, from feet upwards till only her words remain choked mid- air.

Sometimes, she wonders what her epitaph will say. Will anyone come for her funeral?
And then she shudders.

Only sometimes, though.