The hours

It takes exactly 17 minutes and 38 seconds to go from the north of delhi to the west in the metro. I checked. Four times. It takes just a little more than that to go from actually wanting to laugh and snicker to lying comatose on the bed staring up at the fan that never tires, even though the only thing it knows is to go around in circles. It takes an hour longer to finally fall asleep, even though you know you won't like the dreams that are bound to come. It takes two hours more to think about what you've started doing and feel bad about it. And then immediately stop caring because that is what got you into this mess in the first place.

It takes till nightfall for the entire morning to wash away from your mind so that you can cry a little. No reason, it feels right to be letting something go. It takes till midnight for the music to start. Somewhere in my mind, Snow Patrol and Coldplay begin to alternately opening wounds and plastering them with band-aids. It takes the three seconds post midnight to check the chat that just came and feel the lump settling in your throat. It takes nineteen whole hours for reality to come crashing down my head and I let out one little tear, just to finish up the day's quota.

It takes nineteen hours, 30 minutes and some lingering seconds to stop counting the hours, minutes and seconds and finally take off the wrist watch.

It still takes too many hours, minutes and wasted tears for the world to finally stop.

#Lesson for today: When it hurts, laugh about the weather.