She wronged me in ways I couldn't describe. I hated her in unimaginable ways, yet I wouldn't completely wash her scent off my skin. She stayed. Like the whiff of spring breeze. And I stayed too. Unable to let her be. I would come back to her, when the horizon seemed faded. I would come back when the air became difficult to breathe. I would come back when I couldn't think because I viewed simplification through her eyes. And she would show me then. Tell me stories of her world. Which is so far removed from mine that she expresses in words that don't exist in my dictionary. And I would find wings.
Sometimes she would mime to drive the point home. Flay her hands in the middle of the road. Like an angry little bird. I was mostly the curious observer. I would walk alongside her and let her prattle on. Her voice was like gurgle of flowing water. I was content to let her draw out the images in her mind for me. There was a charm of exclusivity to it. As if the bubble existed only for her and me. And I didn't want to touch it.
They say that time flies. That relationships loose their spark. That drudgery and mundane, spread out like vehement roots, straddling you and strangling your love away. We did grow out of our lazy afternoons but curiously enough, I still find her equally enticing. She has evolved in numerous ways. Her eyes have a certain gravity now. Her smile, more constrained. She is someone new, shadowed by unlucky ghosts. Her stories are darker. And yet, when she spots me across the road, her eyes light up and she flays her hands around like that jittery little bird. Runs to me. And time shifts back.
Sometimes she would mime to drive the point home. Flay her hands in the middle of the road. Like an angry little bird. I was mostly the curious observer. I would walk alongside her and let her prattle on. Her voice was like gurgle of flowing water. I was content to let her draw out the images in her mind for me. There was a charm of exclusivity to it. As if the bubble existed only for her and me. And I didn't want to touch it.
They say that time flies. That relationships loose their spark. That drudgery and mundane, spread out like vehement roots, straddling you and strangling your love away. We did grow out of our lazy afternoons but curiously enough, I still find her equally enticing. She has evolved in numerous ways. Her eyes have a certain gravity now. Her smile, more constrained. She is someone new, shadowed by unlucky ghosts. Her stories are darker. And yet, when she spots me across the road, her eyes light up and she flays her hands around like that jittery little bird. Runs to me. And time shifts back.
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