"Why do you need to pen down the vagaries of life?" You question while a trail of smoke dissolves into the darkness. The deformed clouds are scattered in the night time sky and few lone stars shimmer brighter than ever. Our hands are intertwined. A distraction from the mundane pain, an escape from the homelessness of this city, an addiction, a habit that will be forgotten in a month or two.
Someday we will be two blips in the grand universe. Another encounter with life, another incomplete chapter added to the infinite pages of the glorious history of possibilities.
You sometimes have me at loss of words, helpless. You remind me of what was lost. An anticipation, a much awaited eye contact across the cubicle, a chance conversation.
Another night of statutes and drafts, another night rushing towards an abrupt ending, only to turn into flashes that will remain buried in the crevices of my heart. Sometimes we don't have to define the specs of wonder that surround us. We do not have to think of what or who we will become, come morning. We just have to be.
We are unplanned kisses and wildfire, lust and chaos. Everything but the four lettered sin. Everything but L***.
Soon, you will disappear into the space where everything is lost.
With rings of smoke crowning our head, you look at me with eyes that resemble the crescent moon and I stand there, taking in the remnants of times.
"Why do you write of loss and love?" After a long drag from the cigarette, you are inquisitive.
Yikes, I think. Everything but that. "No... I write about life." After thinking for a while, I reply. A smirk later, you question,
"What is so great about life anyway?"
"Perhaps, there is nothing great about life and I write about that." The answer is instant and without second thoughts.
And we stand in silence. Our eyes avoid the traces of a lingering smile.
I am thinking to myself, how long before you turn into just a story.
I am wishing I could tell you that I write about serendipities like you and this half burnt cigarette. About the vague, the undefined and the unsaid.
About everything that burns me and sets me free, everything that is meant to be left incomplete!
Someday we will be two blips in the grand universe. Another encounter with life, another incomplete chapter added to the infinite pages of the glorious history of possibilities.
You sometimes have me at loss of words, helpless. You remind me of what was lost. An anticipation, a much awaited eye contact across the cubicle, a chance conversation.
Another night of statutes and drafts, another night rushing towards an abrupt ending, only to turn into flashes that will remain buried in the crevices of my heart. Sometimes we don't have to define the specs of wonder that surround us. We do not have to think of what or who we will become, come morning. We just have to be.
We are unplanned kisses and wildfire, lust and chaos. Everything but the four lettered sin. Everything but L***.
Soon, you will disappear into the space where everything is lost.
With rings of smoke crowning our head, you look at me with eyes that resemble the crescent moon and I stand there, taking in the remnants of times.
"Why do you write of loss and love?" After a long drag from the cigarette, you are inquisitive.
Yikes, I think. Everything but that. "No... I write about life." After thinking for a while, I reply. A smirk later, you question,
"What is so great about life anyway?"
"Perhaps, there is nothing great about life and I write about that." The answer is instant and without second thoughts.
And we stand in silence. Our eyes avoid the traces of a lingering smile.
I am thinking to myself, how long before you turn into just a story.
I am wishing I could tell you that I write about serendipities like you and this half burnt cigarette. About the vague, the undefined and the unsaid.
About everything that burns me and sets me free, everything that is meant to be left incomplete!
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