Being vile

These days, I have been talking a little too less. I mean I have been talking, but only with my colleagues, about the most boring things, about work, about random things, things that hardly make any sense, most of the times.

I have been craving for some real kind of talking. When I can talk my heart out to someone who knows me, understands me, doesn't judge me for thinking, feeling, and talking the way I would. So, during my leisurely one hour break at work, I called A. We were talking about stuffs, about her new life, about work, about M who is getting married this April, about L who cooks for her husband's family while her husband is busy partying with his friends, and about so many other things. And suddenly, I burst out. While talking to her, I realized how much was buried inside me for such a long time. I realized that the last time I talked to A was weeks back. I also realized that although she knows how vulnerable I am now, she had not bothered to call me for weeks.

So, after sweet nothings, I yelled at her. In fact, I wanted to yell at so many people. I know they don't deserve this. I mean I should know how to deal with my problems. But I just want them to be there to listen to me, be there and bear my rants. I have done this for them, for nth time, always, always. So, of course I expect them to be there when I need them.

There has been so much silence around me that I want some noise. I want loud noise. I want people screaming. I want the screams to be so loud that they would buzz in my ears, that there would no any room for other thoughts. I would like to dance to the wildest of music. I would like to travel anywhere, everywhere.

May be this longing for some talking, some noise, some music, some dance, some traveling must have cause this vileness in me. I don't know if I am sorry for yelling at her. I know I don't need to be. I know she understands.