It’s been a while since you last saw me and talked to me. I have been waiting for you, patiently, fingers crossed behind my back so you don’t see my face or my eyes or my hopeless dreams about the two of us riding away to a glory-filled sunset, your purple cape cocooning my soul as you nuzzle my shoulder and I smile contently. It has been a while since I remembered to smell the pillow where you last lay your head, your face up to the ceiling while I was on my side, trying to voice the thousands of emotions running down my spine, the shivers of glory still reverberating inside my body and soul, my mind a perfectly rounded O, nothing coming close to the delightful delirium that was us. I haven’t been visiting the cafes just because one day we sang together, walking hand in hand, voices uniting in perfect synchrony, your little fingers wrapping itself around mine. Your booming baritone covered the flaws in my warbling treble and I listened to the sound of my own beating heart that said, “You’re the one, you’re the one, you’re the one”.

I slept late last night and dreamt of you. How long has it been? Six years? Four? I don’t know. Past is my memories mixed with delusions and hopes, and all I can think of right now is one cold finger running down the center of my moist palm, a thousand little flames running through my body at the awareness of you, the great, inflated image I have of you in my head. But youth has a way of distorting images – it aggrandizes the trivial and finds meaning where nothing is due. I am older, but the younger, less sure me remains, a tiny voice that time and again chirps, tries to loosen the old soul from its iron confinements, and then, disappointed, goes back to its resting spot.

Rambling. I know, rambling. I’m sitting here, the last rays of the dying sun on my cheek, illuminating a lone tear that crossed the barriers and escaped, only to dry up halfway down my face – capturing the stray sunlight. It will be dark soon and you’ll come to me in the space between sleep and dreams, my twilight memories hopelessly in love with your image. I have let you be, but can you return the favor?

I don’t want to wait for your reply, because I know you will never get the satisfaction of seeing me tell you anything again. I am weak in the dark of the night, but in the day, I shall be your loving, devoted life partner, the perfection that you have created in association with me. I hope you find joy there.

 

Disclaimer: This post is a piece of fiction and has been written in response to #AHundredLittleFlames by Preeti Shenoy .  For more, please follow the hashtag and wait for her book to be launched.

Written by Poorna Banerjee

    1 Comment

  1. Dahlia 2018-01-12 at 3:13 am Reply

    Evocatively and sensitively penned – kudos.

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