19A

When A and I were discussing a write on this, we both concurred that the inexplicable should not be expostulated. Ahem, many deliberations later I chose to “dis”-concur.

Nineteen is a poignant number, its almost, yet not there. It depicts the end of one series and a beginning of another. So was it with A, is was so there, yet not there at all. (Oxymorons are aplenty when the inexplicable has to be described) Intimacy has always been a very interesting word according to me, as this has multilayered manifestations, from the banal mundane to the eclectic hemispheres. When you kissed your childhood sweetheart with the abject tender innocence of 16 years you achieved it. You also achieved it, when you both sheepishly admit to have shoplifted at least once in your lives, on your wedding night. The beauty of intimacy remains intact in each. Yet few are able to sustain intimacy…it steps in like a rare moment and leaves you breathless and incredulous.

All I can say it was otherwise for those 19 hours with A.