She was wounded, in pain yet how she glowed! I used to steal glances in those days. I knew something was amiss. Maybe a fragment was out of tune in the near perfect symphony of hers. And somehow, that piece of paper had landed up at my feet. How sneaky and dexterous life is. Or rather God is!
She appeared strangely reticent, withdrawn. She used to loose her voice in the midst of cacophony of formal debate. I could sense she looked like a bird in a cage. Vulnerable and delicate. As if, she would break at any touch. How strange that nobody sensed it but me. I, who is used to being in the shadows and in control, saw this play of colors on her face, in her eyes. As if, in that moment, she existed, felt, expressed only for me. And I got used to claiming those lost moments as my own. I walked, I picked them up, weaved them together into a blind of promises. And I sneaked them away. Even from her. Such was my desire to possess.
She appeared strangely reticent, withdrawn. She used to loose her voice in the midst of cacophony of formal debate. I could sense she looked like a bird in a cage. Vulnerable and delicate. As if, she would break at any touch. How strange that nobody sensed it but me. I, who is used to being in the shadows and in control, saw this play of colors on her face, in her eyes. As if, in that moment, she existed, felt, expressed only for me. And I got used to claiming those lost moments as my own. I walked, I picked them up, weaved them together into a blind of promises. And I sneaked them away. Even from her. Such was my desire to possess.
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