The Bonfire

Some days I carry my insecurities in a small pouch, zip it in the inner pocket of my bag along with a packet of silica gel.

I carry it to the office, to restaurants, to dinner tables, to functions where strangers don't care and sometimes to home and place it next to my pillow.

It doesn't let me sleep, or eat or drink water or dream. 

It lies there feeding on me.

Then some days I wash it and let it dry while carrying my fear in the same pouch, next to the packet of silica gel and run around the city to drop it somewhere but I never get rid of it.

Then on weekends, self-loathing knocks my door with a bottle of wine and glasses.

We toss on the bed, get drunk and sleep upon each other while drenching each other on the drools of poison.

But once a year, they invite me over to their commonplace and we spend days together, sitting by the bonfire during the day and lie bare on the rooftop in cold evenings to dawn and wait and wait.

Wait till they are tired of my company and get rid of me by throwing me back to life but the funny thing is I never get tired of them.

I still carry something or the other in my pouch, let it lie next to the silica gel and we visit places together.