Right beside me, holding me in her arms she whispers love, thinking I'm asleep. But I'm not. It's been a while since time graced us with the silence from our monotony. She hums the music of her dreams, caressing my head slowly as if reliving the past once more.
The dark is a perfect disguise tonight cause the tears I shed of longing can easily trickle down and hide. Her hands, skilled with care, smooth out my hair, tucking every strangled mess behind my ears. Breathing slowly, I lean into her with a smile hanging low.
Winds hush the time, while my heart claims every melody her lips leave, building a kingdom of memories. Her hands now rest on my head, as she kisses my forehead, sending tingles of ecstasy throughout my body.
Silently, I murmur a prayer of gratitude, as the time continues once again.
Hasn't it been long since the sun kissed the ocean, while the moon hung in the sky? Hasn't it been long since we laughed at our mess, the winds giggling too? Hasn't it been long since we lay entwined, trapped in illusions of us?
The little moments which squeeze itself in our hearts, later become the ones worth remembering. Don't you think so? The mischief of squirrels, when we used to laugh and tease each other; I still remember the way you smiled, as if nothing in the world existed but us. Do you remember?
Don't you remember the way my cries used to blow your ears and for the sake of our sanity, you'd rock me to sleep?
It's right there you know, the moment we were awaiting, hoping we would soon realise it's presence for its only in those little moments you create big memories.
The night was back once again. In all its dark glory, it stood unravelled by his devotee. No Aphrodite she is, just a worshipper, deemed unworthy of the light and hence fell in love with the blind sight of the darkness, bestowed by the night. A dreaming soul among the debris of desires, she became a devotee of the night. Traps and restraints of burning past couldn't turn her to ashes; she is a Phoenix. A warrior. A king. A worshipper. A goddess. She is the galaxy, which started as a tiny star, now home to magnificence. She is alive; in the whispers of elves hiding in the trees. In the scars adorning her flesh. In her gentle touch. In the lost blood in battles, a mark of true warrior. She is alive in every aspect of her existence; in pain and in love. She is what you are. A woman. A human.
It's been long since the lyrics of despair left my lips while my fingers fiddled clumsily with the strings. Everything is eerily quiet, yet the music doesn't reach my senses. It's been exactly two minutes of the strenuous thinking, when an autumnal page landed in my lap. Putting down my guitar, I picked up the page; it was from my songbook. Random scribblings turned into acoustic by none other than my heart.
How did it come here?
I remember discarding it along with the rest of memories, stringed with his treacherous promises. In muted silence, I clenched the page, the zephyr of cold winters and hot cocoa lingering in the air. Words are a time capsule, I tell you. Beware!
-------------- "Lyra, let me see!" He whined like a baby, his lips in a pout making me laugh harder. "You know it's impossible so just give up," I say with a triumphant smile. "Not so easily," he said and within seconds the diary was snatched from my hands. "Hey! Give it back!" I shouted but my voice fell on deaf ears. --------------
The clinking of windchimes brought me out from the reverie. The page was still caged in my fingers, without any intention of letting go. The cool wind whispered music in my ears, urging my voice to dance along with it. But the restraints of past held me back. The scribblings, dancing on the curves, had trained my heart to confess my love. Lunatic, I called myself later for believing them when I saw him packing his bag, leaving behind our framed memories. That very day, I burnt every song my heart sang and along with them the tears I vowed, never to let them escape.
But the question again echoed. If I had burnt every page, how is it here?
"Because you left it in the corridor," a voice echoed in my brain.
Yes. And it must have been swept away by the wind. Despite myself, a drop escaped my eyes but before I could lose control, I tore the page to bits, liberating the words from the clutches of time.
And I sang for the last time, the song I'll never hum.
But here we are. Should I cling to this moment, which like those white cotton candies, will gradually dissolve in my existence? Or should I reside in the sweet nothings you whispered, sending my heart in ecstasy, while my body reeled with pleasure.
Betwixt the silk sheets and your warm skin, my fingers traced the ridges withholding our naked love. Heavily intoxicated with the nightly romance, my lips inked desires. A sudden shift, and beneath the moon I found myself, as his eyes held mine, chanting galaxies.
"Ink me," I whispered. And so he did. With every stroke, he wrote passionate verses, the rhythm of beats in sync. Covered in stardust and heat, entwined we lay as we breathed infinities on our parting lips.
Thus was made a sensual art, where the night made love to the moon.
It's fine to hide in shadows or creep under your bed just to escape the demons that keep growing in your head. After all, it's just you and me. One day, maybe, you'll be able to look in the mirror and find the lost you, in me. Maybe, every thought you'll weave won't be covered in cobwebs, knocking your windows at night, chasing you like nightmares. Maybe the eyes won't lie anymore and lips will stop trembling.
It's alright to be afraid. Sometimes.
It's fine to drown in horizon, 'cause illusions are your new reality. Maybe you'll find the lifeboat one day, waiting, to take you to the shore. Maybe in the mirage you'll find, a dream you once believed in. Maybe you'll see through the torn silk curtains, at the grey sky now turning blue. Maybe the bits of shredded memories won't bleed through your skin, piercing your flesh every night. Until then, I'll be standing by the door, as my existence shreds on the floor, being swept away the wind while you lay there like a wilting flower, who never existed.
I have a habit of leaving black and blue nibs of well known pens shamelessly naked in the presence of a company; and perhaps dwelling upon a revenge to gather back a petty reputation, the ink always let's loose upon my palest of clothes.
Have you ever tried to rub off an unwanted ink mark from your white apparel? No matter how hard you try; the friction of agitating the tattered cloth would begin to smolder your fingers and the erupting lather would soon diminish itself. Yet by that time the stain often develops a liking for your sweat and it decides to live by till a crisp starched shirt takes it's honoured place.
This acknowledged feat of mine, including a few minor lessons; has injected a realisation to my thoughts. And today, diamonds do appear to be; just like broken glass to me.
Wouldn't you like to know, just how I've been? It's been, so long. Long enough to have you predicted as a nostalgic memory. This place feels just the same; old and forgotten, this frozen sound.
I haven't been functioning to my trotted potential capacities past my recent perihelion. As per today, I woke up to the warmest of smiles sent over in lime green envelopes reeking vanilla from my sweet niece. The vanilla stains and her wildly drawn butterfly made me bake my early morning mourning migraine off.
All it takes to give an elegant puff to the cake is a slack of baking powder and the rest is done assured by a pinch of sodium tartrate. Being allergic to eggs, I tend to promise you of a healthy vegetarian dessert.
There were enough slices degraded upon the yellow porcelain plate for the entirety of my family. Yet it cracked my already parched heart to a familiar extent to know that it wasn't up to the liking of the J shaped stomachs belonging to varied individuals. Time, is of the essence, and thus it has been harder for people to taste a slice of love.
I whispered to myself, staring at my creation, "Love don't take your time with me, 'cause I've done this before."
It is not true that love doesn't exist anymore. It is not true either to believe that love isn't needed anywhere. There are hungry hearts who simply want their lips to taste a drop of love once again; their swollen watering tongues thirst for a lie equating to love.
I lifted my plate up and felt the freshly baked warmth towards it's centre. All I ever wanted was to run away, close my eyes, but witness something wrong. Heading out through my doors, I searched for a famished life.
And I tell you, it has been months since I touched Life in its purest. There was a breath calling me Home. My Home, yours and ours; somewhere far away from this ground; we become Human again. Do you know even in the dark, there's lines between the spaces, hiding where you are? There was one such fear, drowning in a shallow despair, and I had to feed it with all the love that brimmed inside me, after an immortal forever.
She was an old crumpled woman, her knees exposed through her cotton cloth, a black mantle prevented her hair from getting receded by the wind. Through her unbathed skin, there were the most sophisticated furrows cementing themselves. Her eyelids folded in steps and fell over her deep brown eyes like satin curtains of a past memorable landscape. Barefoot; her hands were hardened and laying bare; she seemed dead enough in her anatomy. I flickered my hand in front of her and made the flies licking her dry lips away.
She wasn't expected to move, nor did she. I won't say, to be a human, you have to feel pity upon such a wonder. I didn't feel my heart to that moment; yet my love for a stranger stranded in the middle of the road, sitting beneath a lamp post was bulkier than the emotion of pity.
I gushed my silver spoon through the sponge and devoured over the vanilla essence evaporating at that instant. It dived through her mouth and she predicted motion. Her eyes rolled at my face; brighter than the sun and much more awaited than Halley. She pouched her lips and accepted my token of love for her.
Her eyes closed in a glued nostalgia and her smile was not worth a capture. A tear rolled down her cheek and softened her concrete spotted skin. She opened her eye and dig them into mine, held my hand and showed me the most beautiful definition of an indefinable emotion.
She expectantly squealed in her scrambled voice dwelling upon the flavour that flowed through her mind as her mother's apparition. A hungry soul I fed today; trying to remember a familiar memory, now foreign to her. This love is the only need you'll ever need; yet you or even me; we won't realise it, would we?
A chain reaction of the transfer of the most immaculate energy from my niece to me and then to a complete stranger evoked a forgotten memoir, a hopeless memory. What is Time, but a lie we have created? The emotion was identical among each age; my elder self being the youngest and the most immature.
I don't know her story; her name. Yet at that moment while she held my wrist, we were Home. We were Human again.
Ink stains have taught me a boulevard of thoughts that perhaps shouldn't have crossed my mind. The memories we tend to forget and erase are the only ones which would never leave your hand. Be it good, or bad.
Most often I'd rub multiple times over my shirts to let go of the stains; yet they just prove to be stubborn as me. I'd iron the apparel and let it fall over my bones in a disappointment, yet I'd end up searching for yesterday's ink remark upon it, a subtle change of a fading stain would be visible. Getting rid of a memory so lonely, you deliberately empty your entire chest of precedents. It's not hard for me to see, just how forgotten these days can be.
I know not, what her fate has brought her to. Yet there was a certain hint of a forgotten muse; which many bypassers, as you and me, often blamed to be already dead. If bridges could burn for you, wouldn't you like them to?
Perhaps we'll discover us for us when we search again for our concealed home and existence. Whenever we'd be, Human again.
We still have a horcrux of time. It's just another hallucination we gave birth to; while being afraid to feel the need to reach out to our Home, once again.
Just give them the taste of the sweetest memories that they have forgotten or accidentally deleted in an attempt to decongest themselves. Perhaps then; the love you are looking for would be found in yourself.
There are edges, and then there are lines. And I have been on the open road so long, I don't even remember when the two became blurred.
I will tell you something about lines and edges. They creep up on you. You walk, and the end beckons. But you don't stop. Because you can't. Because there's that mirage in front of you. The one you call hope.
I walk that line everyday. I watch the red blood fall from the edges.
And I will tell you something else. Once you cross that line, once those edges come off.. there is no coming back.