Happy ending

 A crow flies in solitude. Few droplets of rain rest on my arm. Shimmering blue and green lights speak to me from a distance, and a couple holding hands own the street with their laughter. A kid from the house next door gifts me a tiny rose, and as I book my evening show tickets for the new spiderman movie, all I wish for is a happy ending. Like the end to this day I am seeing right now. 

The yellow sidelight from the nearby car makes the crying 6-year-old begging for a chocolate startle and then, cry again, and in his idiosyncrasies, I get reminded of the 21-year-old me begging for a Hot Wheels in a supermarket a few days ago. I suppose my idiocy won't leave me anytime soon. Kathmandu, the land of my very dreams, which birthed the solace I enjoy, which breathes the polluted air of my audacious jokes; Kathmandu, the city of temples where pigeons mark their territory on a parked scooter; Kathmandu, the light that scatters somewhere in Nagarjun and the longer you stare at the clouds slowly engulfing the hills in their embrace, all I wish for is a happy ending. I wonder why I have gotten so obsessed with it. 

The chill of sitting on metal stairs, with a metallic music somewhere deep in my conscious professing wisdom of my chaos, and as I unintentionally mouth the words of my favorite poet, thinking of everything, laminating my wounds with a see through tape because I want to see the shapes that made me, and caressing this giant canvas with a melancholy of a song written a century ago, I wonder if this moment itself is a happy ending of some sort. It has to be. 

The rain droplets cover my glasses now. And yet, from within those blurred lenses, I see a monkey on a rooftop making an umbrella out of its hands. What I discern as cirrus clouds pass right through my blurred reality and in that phenomenon, I see a whiff of my life passing away: someone who personifies the pen they write with and someone who disembodies themselves to a mere anatomical system. I suppose contradictions are extremely beautiful, for how can I be both happy and sad looking at the scenery in front of me, where a countless light sources pierce the singular droplet of rain just to meet me eye? And just like that, I am no longer in Kathmandu, but in Talcha, where jewels in shape of desolation welcomed me with the widest of smiles; I'm in Pili, where every droplet that kissed the car deck screamed at me the history of the road where those wheels run; I'm in Manma where the rainbow confessed to me that it was looking for hope. I am in South Carolina where the sunset bleeds into an absence; I'm in Northampton where the snow embraces my soul in its warmth; I'm in Kutaisi where a million stars pour the universe onto my rectangularly covered eyes. And if all that can be true, it's a shame if this ending isn't happy. 

I see all this with my eyes closed, and if no amount of hope is too much hope, let me be naive this one time yet again. I hope we all get a happy ending. 

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