The City in the Seashells

The tide of my feelings was receding. The sand was still moist from the touch of your waves. The sea shells of your memories were scattered haphazardly and I had decided to let them be instead of picking and collecting them like I used to. There were nights when my dreams carried my soul to the shore of your waves where I sat lone on the big dark-grey bumped rock of your love while my whites were soaked in the green moss of my disappointment in you. The sky was dark but cloudless and clear. I knew now that you would never come by. The glacial winds played a mockery at me as they settled on my bare shoulders, teasing me with slow penetrating stabs of jibes. There were no wounds but there was pain and the scars that their dagger inflicted upon me ran deep into my soul.

The waves were calm at the surface but I could sense the wild under current that I knew would, one day, submerge the city of my existence. The moon was flat and pale yellow like the sullen pages of an old untouched book that had gathered layers of dust overnight. The air carried a familiar smell of melancholy and I breathed it in and out without any prejudices as I had come to recognize it way too well now. The winds blew my flower imprinted white dress hence and forth like a dog tethering at it's owner and my mirrored sling bag that hung loose from my bare shoulder jingled, playing a clunter in the glory of it's contents. I watched them toss my desires as I saw my hopes fall hither tither but this time, I didn't run to gather them.

I continued to stay while I gazed at the north star shining bright beside the dreamy moon as the moonlight swam in a backstroke on the waves with an obvious but lazy kind of ease. The shore was vast, abandoned and lifeless. The sand was bruised with the footprints of the many forlorn lovers whose verselets once wreathed the sea in inscriptions like an emerald diadem but now only resounded completely in the memory of generations of sea winds as love lores. I could hear the song of the sea girls as it chorused at a distance. It was the kind of song whose rhythm could plunder a heart and when the tune stopped, everything would be quiet. 

I walked seawards towards the voices until I was soaked waist deep into the stillness of the moment. My feet dug into the red and brown reeds and dissolved into the sand like quicksilver. I conceded to the ebb and flow of the tides to submerge my existence into yours for the one last time. One by one, I pulled out the ivory colored sea shells I had preserved overtime from my mirrored sling bag. I touched them delicately to feel the smooth ripples of your design and the jagged rough edges. Each one of them had your name carved on it and so each one of them was oh so close to my heart and precious beyond words or value. Ever so slightly, I let them slip into the pallid hoops of waters that would float them to where they truly belonged - into the abysmal sea bed of my heart; where I had parked the bottles of my unsent confessions; where the sea girls penned and weaved their songs; where the remains of the wrecked vessels lay.

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.

Unsolicited Refrains

I wait threadbare; my bed unmade from the wrinkles we painted on it that crimson night. The purple yarn of my pillow still indulgent in serenades of the forbidden. The arid smell of your flesh rolled into the pockets of my pillow cases we raked our conversations on. The loose talks and the dirty ones. Your deliberations teasing my earlobes and steering my sins. Your fingers tracing the wind trails across my hair and the length of my neck still drenched in the sweet nothings of the subtle whispers of your breath.

I wait rumpled; the feathers of your voice ruffled and tucked into my bed sheet precariously and my blanket still warm from the dormant fires that succumbed to the sensual caressing. Your gaze caught in the reds and browns of my mahogany mirror where I watch your reflection undress me; thread by thread. Comforting my bare shoulders and flattering me in adoration while it gapes at me like I am a collector’s item.

I wait reticent; the air still brimming with the casual smell of your cigarette hurled into tangled remains of your scent. The ashtray unkempt, untouched, unscarred. The stubbed remains still resounding with the unnoticed tremble in the touch of your fingers and the quiver of your lips; of that of a tethered after thought.

And so I wait unsolicited because that night you had reduced me to the same. You had leaned into me so close within those taut constraints that my particles trembled with the misconstrued symphony that your fingers played on me. My soul quivered in the darkness of my closed eyes when your lips were about to kiss mine but only almost there; your breath delicately stroking mine but not quite there yet. You left me gaping for air while my greed chiseled in the flames of untamed passion and destroyed me while I waltzed into the ashes of your stardust.

A Thousand Years Later

It had been a thousand years since I had seen you last. In a deliberate attempt to feed my memory, I conjured an excuse to pass you by today. It was a casual encounter that a passerby has with an architectural marvel while his vehicle speeds him away at a hundred twenty kilometers; beholding the greed of absorbing every ounce of detail of the art in a mere fraction of a second.

Likewise, I passed you by today- hesitant to meet your eyes and spoilt for the choice of seeping in your design, your fashion or the emotions shuffling across your eyes and smile. Amidst the chaos that was plundering my heart, I saw enough of nothing. Not even the color of your shirt. It was a glimpse so short that it's memory lost it's way to my heart as if it went into a self destruct mode before I could touch it.

But it happened again. Your voice fluttered it's wings onto my ears and before I knew, my body had turned to follow it, as if my body had a mind of it's own. I saw a flash of your beautiful silhouette and time froze into a velvet capsule, my heart beating in a scattered frenzy that could outrun a jetplane; my gut knotted around my tender neck and my breath caught in a bubble wrap waiting to pop; my cheeks flustered with darting radiations of a nuclear fission that could burn down the entire universe if I dared look at you once again.

And once more, the mind of it's own pushed me to hide behind the wooden desk like a timid gazelle ducking to camouflage itself at the sight of it's predator; like a scared teenage girl so shy she could run for her life if her lover crossed the next by lane. My body limp with the fear of unknown and my thoughts numb from your tepid demeanor, but it couldn't care less about the crowd that gathered around me. As I raised my disheveled mind half hoping you were still there, I watched you vaporize into your obvious territory.

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. 

The Eve of the Shooting Star

I saw a shooting star tonight and I held my hand to my heart, shut my eyes and wished for you. I don't believe in miracles but I believe in you and me. And there is absolutely no place else besides your arms, where I would rather be. So brace yourself because although right now there is no reason to at all. But when your heart is next to mine, the world will be magical.

Because It Was You and It Was Me

Sometimes, you just really love some people and then get your heart broken in some way or the other. The reason doesn't matter and although it feels like eternity but you do get over them. 

Sometimes, after a million years you run into them again. There are no hard feelings. Infact there are no feelings at all. So, you go back to your closet and think why in the world did you ever like them. You think of the old times and the memories gush to you in a black and white flashblack. But when that reel of flashback burns out, you are still left with the same question although not daunting in the dark. 

The best part is you couldn't bother less because somewhere in your heart you know that when there is no reason at all, the answer to that question simply is... "because it was him and because it was me".

Someday, maybe I would feel the same about you and maybe even ask myself the same question. But until then I am right here. :*