And That Is How I Met Her

And that is how I met her. 

I remember distinctly how we were sitting under a cloudy moonless sky that night after a complete solar eclipse, two of us on the swing, gently swaying while the third one sat across on a bench. 

I remember saying something, which turned out to be gibberish for the duo sitting with me. One of them even reprimanded me as to what the fuck I was saying. I had such a tough time controlling my laughter, and this was me, the one who didn’t lose control over her emotions so easily unless I decided to go easy. 

As I sat in silence, wondering what made me lose myself, I heard her. Not loud and clear, it was more like a version of – how I would be if I was like my mother – talking to me. 

She laughed at my inability to mask myself, kept my tongue in check for the rest of the night. 

The fact that none of the others could hear her, the fact that my failed judgment of whether or not she was real, and the fact that I had never run into her before confused the hell out of me. 

All through last night, she held my tongue, kept me in check, and confused whether or not whatever happening to me was real or not… to the extent that I made a rushed Instagram post which I could later use as proof to establish my point, and in the next moment she laughed at me as if trying to say that I would be hallucinating the posting too. 

(aside: I checked today morning and the post was there! Here it is


I always suspected I had a twin lurking within, assumed comfortably that she was evil and I was the better one. 

Turns out, I am the rotten apple and she has been the force keeping my recklessness in check all this while. 

And that is how I met her. When I was stoned beyond comprehension. 

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