The Wanderer

You stroll into my thoughts and dreams once and again; frizzled and frolic like it were your spot where you wandered to absentmindedly every now and then. It's unfair how much I miss you when you don't even think of me at all. 

Still Here

I am still here. Waiting in the dark. The only light guiding me, the amber cindered flicker of your cigar. And the smoke drifting away to mix in the air that you would breathe someday; forming perfectly incomplete circles that I wish to escape from but can't.

The dust of my ashes settling into the atmosphere forming a drunken haze under the blanket of stars that you and I share. And while I wait for you, your thoughts splashing the puddle of my memory forming reflections on the greased palette of my mind. My eyes heavy from the sleepless hollows and my lashes batting in drumrolls evading any hint of peace to seep through while I drift away into an uncomfortable slumber of mixed emotions and desires I could only wish you would honor someday.

I miss you.

Far Far Away

I am a million miles away from you but your thoughts take flight from my memory and brush against the walls of my soul like the constant fluttering of loose pages of a diary. I wish I could open that diary and let the cold breeze help the pages drift away into open nothingness. The same dark corner of void where you'll find me waiting for you while the ruthless waves of your silence play a bash against the rocks of my heart.

Disappointment and It's Second Cousin

And I saw it again, while it sneaked behind you with a kind of nervous trepidation as if it were afraid to offend those around it. Those stubbed hollows of eyes like it had seen too much in a time too less; weary composure on a pale cracked skin; haggled and shabby, dreary from living a life with no purpose or end. 

I caught it's undefined contours moving in stealth while it's cloak of disturbing shades of black exposed it's thread bare loose ends. They dragged in a lazy conversation with the grim around it. Boneless and frail, it's fingers looked as if they were ripped precariously by a dagger in frantic haste. With a lingering aura of sepulcher, it smelled of death. 

It introduced itself in a murky baritone with a reference from it's second cousin, Hope; the comforting juggernaut of a lady I had run into last night. Dressed in a floral dress of primary hues, she had sung me a lullaby and tucked me into the warm blanket of illusions while the snow glazed winter of Reality froze outside my window. I had felt like an abandoned child who had found the affection of her long lost mother. 

She had sent her condolences through the harbinger. It was a tattered note of anemic yellow with beautiful cursives dancing in tandem with each other. If only the message was that flattering, I wished. The ink was smeared from the sweat of humility of the dark man. I could but only leave the message to my imagination. But the last few words clearly read that she shall visit me again. 

To The Person You Used to Be

"The moment rewinds like a film in my mind. There always comes a time to an ending I despise. Someday, when it's not too late; Someday, when I stop myself from running your way. Will I see the good in good-bye, you say?"

The pain of letting go - why does one have to go through it? Is it not easier to not love at all and live as detached beings. Are the forgetful really that blessed? 

Had I wished to, I could choose to erase your presence from my life like death rips soul from a body; gracefully, not a trace left behind. But I chose the path of dealing with the pain; of memorizing it and accepting it as my very own. It's a slow gradual process but it is also the one that'll truly acknowledge your presence in my life; like the last rites are performed to redeem a soul from the worldly belongings. It is painful, true; but it is only after you have earned the redemption that your journey begins; that you can truly say that you have really loved. 

You never acknowledged my presence in your life. You may also wonder what about us stirred such strong emotions in me. It could have been a look, or a touch, or a few words exchanged out of sheer politeness. The truth is that even I am unaware. But what I do know with certainty is that when I discover it I would have discovered something I don't have a name for. 

Every strong relationship writes on art, I feel. But maybe, it was only I amongst both of us who gave this relationship the tangible form that it deserves. I couldn't voice it earlier because I was apprehensive about what you might think. But now it's time for me to leave and I guess I have nothing else to lose.  

With Love,

To the person you used to be. 

Thirty Seconds

“I’ve been trying today to bring back your face. Most clearly I remember your eyes, with a kind of teasing smile in them, and the feeling of that soft spot just northeast of the corner of your mouth against my lips.”

A month has passed but everyday, since the past three weeks I have been spending eight hours a day to catch a thirty seconds glimpse of you; wishing you would say something to someone and I would get to hear your voice; wondering if you had anything left unsaid to me and hoping that you would say it now.

You leave me with a little of you everytime you pass me by. Sometimes, you smile; sometimes you wink and sometimes you just make a funny face. It might last a moment for you but for me it stays. It stays for the next few hours; lasts while I am on my way back home and barely enough till I put myself to bed with a thought of a better tomorrow. But tomorrow never gets better and now I just do it so that I can take home enough of you along with me to last for the day. 

There are days when I don’t see you at all. On days like these I shut my eyes and though I am almost always unsure of my ability to recall faces, yours just brightens the screen of my retina bringing back tattered bits of memories that I have with you which I have gathered over time. It’s like a collage and I relive each picture, no matter how small or big; and I secretly wish I had danced with you that night while you held me close instead of breaking into fits of crazy laughter to veil my awkwardness. 

I don’t know what I feel for you. If I wouldn’t have known love, I would have thought that I love you. But I don’t. It’s an unfamiliar magnetic force that pulls me and my thoughts towards the farthest stretch of your memory. It’s a feeling of strong emotions mixed with pangs of guilty pleasures; bouts of longing for soft sensual caressing mixed with wild scent of desire and animal passion. And while I desperately crave for your warm breath against my racing heartbeats and for your sweat against mine, those thirty seconds still suffice.

I miss you. I really really do. And irrespective of what logic tells me, I still believe with my entire existence that    you’ll come by and reciprocate instead of merely responding to my feelings in affirmative or otherwise. I know   I told you that I need you. That night I was drunk. But I guess I was right.