The Pharmacy(TM)

"The city is not a concrete jungle, it is a human zoo."

"The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven."

- John Milton

He had love for one, sorrow for another, and pity for the last.

He tried to live a quiet, solitary life, but somehow excitement would always find him. As a result, he became a student of the graceful exit. Not grace as it implies flair–but grace as it implies propriety. In one month, he would test his propriety thrice in as many days.

The last–he met second, on a dark lonely night he made his ultimatum to her–to end her confusion once and for all. They had met once upon another lonely afternoon, complete strangers except for a brief introductory note. They spent that quaint afternoon talking about the lives they had. And after that afternoon turned into evening, she thought she loved him with all her heart.

But he didn’t love her. And he posed that reality to her on that lonely night, and gambled his grace on her emotions, that perhaps her senses might see the sheer folly of their plight. Unrequited her love was to be. And that he could not bear to condemn her to willingly. She longs for him still.

The second–he met last, over a nice quaint lunch he learned her true story. He thought she was the type who seemed born to know love. And perhaps for the briefest moment once upon a lonely night, he thought me might know love for her. It was a passing moment in time that melted into the sorrow of the present, as she recanted the disgraceful events of her past.

His heart fell at the fact that despite her loving appearance, she had not known love. Her life had twisted love into distaste, agony, and cynicism. And she still thought that she would never love anyone with even an ounce of her heart. They parted with a brief introductory note. And his heart ached with sadness as she longed for her emancipation, though unrequited.

The one he had met first. But had known her far longer than that. He never realised she resembled the faintest idea of the one until lately. On one dark lonely night she bared her sorrow to him. For years her love was unrequited. And for years she has kept it to herself. He listened to the story of the life she had, in the meantime fearing that her love would twist into distaste, agony, and cynicism.

He carefully posed her reality to her–before she would think that she would never love anyone with all her heart. And as they parted hours later, without the briefest of introductions, he longed for her still, and his heart sadly ached with the need for emancipation. He already knew that he loved her with all his heart.

He had yet a number to call. Another chance to test his propriety. Thrice tested, thrice accepted, he was tempted to call and complete a deadly quartet. But what good would that do? He already felt love for one, sorrow for another, and pity for the last. He had no more plethora of emotions to expend.

But love for one at least, was something worth living for. Something worth fighting for.

And as he mulled over the events of the last few days he slowly realised, that his education in the school of graceful exits, would be ending very soon. And to end not with so much propriety, as flair to follow one’s heart, which he now understood, was probably the lesson he needed to learn all along.

It’s something I genuinely fear.

In aircraft parlance, the Point of Safe Return (PSR) is the maximum distance traveled by an aircraft beyond which it will not have enough fuel to make a return flight back to its point of origin. Beyond the PSR, the pilot has no choice but to see the aircraft through its intended (or unintended) destination. Although emergency landings may occasionally be an option, generally the PSR is regarded as the maximum margin of safety that a pilot can test, before assuming unacceptable levels of risk.

Although most people I know live generally safe lives, I’ve found that most people love to flirt with danger in their own little ways, testing our own personal PSRs every time.

It can be a question you refuse to ask someone. Or an answer you provide, but not that fully—just a tasty fragment to tease the senses. It can be an action, furtive at first, but growing ever more daring as time passes.

It can be a promise. Or a promise of a promise. A broken promise. An apology. A promise of an apology. It’s a joust, a match, one on one combat. Ourselves against someone. Ourselves against ourselves.

Whatever it is we prefer to flirt our lives with, we all get away with it—most of the time. Until that one instance where we go one inch too far, one word too much, one action too large, or too small. One moment too soon.

One moment too late.

And then for one brief second you’re there: the Point of Safe Return—but you don’t stay there for long. You passed it without a forethought. It came and it went.

And now there’s no way back.

That is what I genuinely fear. I fear waking up one morning, and realize with a sinking feeling that the night before can never be reclaimed. I fear treading through that door that can never be closed once opened. I fear the lock that can never be opened once closed.

I fear hearing that word that can never be taken back once said. I fear saying it. I fear the judgment that can never be reconsidered once rendered. I fear the reasons that can never be reassessed once given.

I fear the sensibilities that come together and the connections that form. I fear the resulting conclusion. I fear the facts, and the conjectures that become facts after the fact. I fear the emotions that come. I fear the emotions that are no longer there. I fear the emotions that are leaving me—that have left. I fear presence. I fear the void. I fear the process by which presence becomes the void.

And to remain trapped in this fear, is what I fear the most.

Please pardon my vague ramblings.

"Past the point of no return -

no backward glances:

the games we’ve played till now are at an end…

Past all thought of "if" or "when" –

no use resisting:

abandon thought, and let the dream descend…

What raging fire shall flood the soul?

What rich desire unlocks its door?

What sweet seduction lies before us?

Past the point of no return,

the final threshold –

what warm, unspoken secrets will we learn?

Beyond the point of no return…"

Point of No Return from Phantom of the Opera

By Andrew Lloyd Webber