Here's the Thing (Part 5)

I'm now on the roof smoking. The same table where we sat before anything happened and I could look at you with a silly tipsiness in my eyes and a goofy smile on my as-yet-not-overreaching lips and you didn't suspect anything.

Ten vodkas down. I'm listening to the voice of my favourite male singer, and he died last year. Is his voice reaching across the abyss between life and death that none of us think we can cross?

I'm not stupid. I know his voice is reaching across nothing but the digital magic of an mp3.

But something about Death reaches across too. And I wonder, flaws and all, alcohol and nicotine and all, how deep in the abyss will I fall?

So here's the thing: Why don't you just tell me how it is, so I'm not imagining you watching me every moment, with lust or with disgust? Why don't you leave me alone, because alone I can do? Why don't you leave me not wondering what would've been different if I hadn't been myself that singular moment?

And here's the real thing: Thukraao ab ki pyaar karo, main nashe mein hoon.