Tonight it was different.
He sat up quickly in bed. The thousand stars he slept under, pricked his ancient skin with their cold, sharp points. He seemed to bleed moonlight and loneliness.
The death of a lover is a terrible thing. No more arms and limbs to entangle yourself in. No more sipping the same air while breathing hurriedly through love-making. No more singing crazily during Rainy July. No more witnesses to your life. He didn't always miss her but tonight, well, it didn't feel like other nights.
He couldn't remember the sound of her voice anymore. And it was not because he was turning deaf due to old age. Memory is a twisted maze in which we lose ourselves, rushing hastily through escape routes, reaching dead-ends, coming up lazily to a cul-de-sac and wondering, 'How the Hell did I end up HERE?'
We lose the essence of people, of things. Our sadness gets tinged with longing, with that familiar drop in the stomach till its nothing but a feeble nostalgia, creeping up in the deepest roots of our heart.A mere memory of sadness.
He was forgetting his wife. Once, she had been the sole reason he got out of bed in the mornings. And now this.
He pressed his eyes shut tighter. As if the pressure could force his mind to milk some old, faded memory of her. It didn't. But then-
He saw her wade into the blue waters on the night of her 22nd Birthday. Her skirts hitched up to her knees. Her smile created ripples in the still, dark waters of her eyes . It was the first time he had the courage to reach out and touch her brown skin. And she hadn't held back...
There was no doubt he loved her with his eternity.
A comet blazed brilliantly through the sky- hot and quick and beautiful. Just like their love had been. It glazed the night sky with the Hope of returning again, in another Time- a recurring Love story.
He sat up quickly in bed. The thousand stars he slept under, pricked his ancient skin with their cold, sharp points. He seemed to bleed moonlight and loneliness.
The death of a lover is a terrible thing. No more arms and limbs to entangle yourself in. No more sipping the same air while breathing hurriedly through love-making. No more singing crazily during Rainy July. No more witnesses to your life. He didn't always miss her but tonight, well, it didn't feel like other nights.
He couldn't remember the sound of her voice anymore. And it was not because he was turning deaf due to old age. Memory is a twisted maze in which we lose ourselves, rushing hastily through escape routes, reaching dead-ends, coming up lazily to a cul-de-sac and wondering, 'How the Hell did I end up HERE?'
We lose the essence of people, of things. Our sadness gets tinged with longing, with that familiar drop in the stomach till its nothing but a feeble nostalgia, creeping up in the deepest roots of our heart.A mere memory of sadness.
He was forgetting his wife. Once, she had been the sole reason he got out of bed in the mornings. And now this.
He pressed his eyes shut tighter. As if the pressure could force his mind to milk some old, faded memory of her. It didn't. But then-
He saw her wade into the blue waters on the night of her 22nd Birthday. Her skirts hitched up to her knees. Her smile created ripples in the still, dark waters of her eyes . It was the first time he had the courage to reach out and touch her brown skin. And she hadn't held back...
There was no doubt he loved her with his eternity.
A comet blazed brilliantly through the sky- hot and quick and beautiful. Just like their love had been. It glazed the night sky with the Hope of returning again, in another Time- a recurring Love story.
What is this supposed to mean ?
ReplyDelete... loved her 'with his eternity'