Delusion

He was waiting for this to happen. For a very long time now.

He was philosophical. He knew it would happen to him. Someday. It did. After all, it wasn’t a big deal. He just had to use his fingers. It was the other way round for him, the fingers guided the mind. The mind reacted to him. Not vice versa.

This was the day. This was it.

On a computer he always used ‘shift + del’. That deletes the item forever, without pushing it into the ‘recycle bin’. To predict that he used the same law in life, is no rocket science.

What is writing? An expression? A profession? A pass-time? A hobby? He always thought writing was a bit of everything. The past, the present and the future.

He was always confused about the ‘tense’.

What he will do if he didn’t like her? No… this is wrong English. I mixed the tense.

So is it… What would he do if he didn’t like her? May be…

That’s not the point. The point was his fingers had begun. His mind had no choice. His thoughts were at his mercy.

Delusion. That’s the word to begin with, he thought. It’s mysterious. It’s fascinating and it sounded cool. Delusion.

Delusion. What else can be connected to delusion?

What else would connect with delusion? You? Me? Everyone? Anyone? It had universal appeal. Everyone in life, at some point or the other, had felt delusion. Like it was an object.

What would delusion feel like?

It felt like a stone wall. Cold. Hard. And grey. If you closed your eyes and felt it, you would see grey color.

Wait. Something’s changing.

The place where you had put your hand, warmed up. The body heat.

Well that was delusion.

He opened his eyes. He was still typing. He smiled. He knew this would come to an end. An end that was believable, mysterious, fascinating and simple.

He knew, one day he would stand in front of the mirror and not feel ashamed at what he saw. Today was the day.

He stood in front of the mirror. His eyes moistened. He could look at himself in the eye. He moved his fingers to tap the air. The air responded. The clutter of words evaporated.

He touched the wall. Delusion.

What is that strange line that you draw between ‘what you are’ and ‘what you want to be’?

That line is called delusion. In other words, Life.

And all your life, you are fighting that delusion. You want the delusion to end. Imagine what would happen if it did.

He knew he would never want this delusion to end. But a delusion always comes to an end.

An end that’s neither mysterious nor fascinating. It’s simply an end. Because, delusions end.

I got it.