My wardrobe is full of blues. From a variety of t-shirts to jeans, they are all in shades of blues.
My sister often complains that I only wear few of reds I own, in my ballroom classes. She hasn’t seen me in any other colour than red during classes.
How does colour calls me? May be they reflect the shades of my mood. When I am in my dance classes, I feel full of energy, I feel gushed with a shoulder relived of the stress.
The blues reflect the state of calm I bear at my work. They represent my individuality. The integrity I hold to enable me survive the wrath of reality.
But the right shade of blue, is the my beautiful kind of blue. It’s the blue of my face, when I see you unexpectedly. The beauty so radiant that I forget to breathe in for the moments you pass by near me.
I remember the blushes when I used to think about you. And the cynasosis when I seldom see you in the rush.
Whatever shades of life come through, I enjoy both reds and blues. I may not have more of reds but they are my beautiful blues.
Do you believe in something, which can’t be seen but still exists???
No, I am not talking about faith, god, ghost, evil or demon.
We believe in fire, because it burns. we believe in water because it freezes to ice.
I believe in Something which exists in my pillow more than in my bed. I feel it in my slumber, in my harsh breathes of solitude. I feel it in the existence of being lonely. I sense it, in whatever good survives in me.
It’s gentle, tender and beautiful. More musical than poetry. It’s fluid than the wind.
I call it LOVE.
She was indulging in her plans for her first white Christmas somewhere in Europe, when I drew back in the nostalgic reins of my childhood. Gosh!!! The days when I used to fancy a white rain, a walk on the bare moon or a March in the terrains of white elephants.
Three decades have passed and I haven’t done any of them. Yet, I don’t regret or seemingly work on fulfilling the desires.
I have felt the calm of ocean in your love. The warmth of a river from the frozen ice through thy kiss. The breeze of first spring passing through my ear when you nibbled down my neck. Yes, I have experienced the perfect love. The love I never imagined in my younger days. The live I can’t imagine in my growing night. But, I have lived it.
I am not sure if the white rain would be as nurturing as your arms. If the bare moon walk be that soothing as your touch.
In then her giggle brought me back to reality. She asked me if I have ever seen snowfall? I nodded in a no. She gave me a smug and went off .
Later night, I am picturising if those childhood fancies be fulfilling if I start chasing them now. We are not born perfect. We will never be perfect. What if the reality is not as perfect as slumber dream. Let not them decay in me. I will keep them alive as I keep you.
I left the sentence after that word, as I realised that the word itself raises the question of symphony.
Why do you we fall in love??? I have known since a long before. For no known reasons I have loved you my way.
Why did we depart?? For the sake of self existence we took a departure.
Why did you leave ??? I am unaware.
Why and why not???
Questions take a brawl across the narrow lanes of my synapses. And I spend hours streamlining them in my drawing room.
My collegeue asked me today, “why doesn’t things work out in a relationship”?
I had a long list of answer for her. But I kept mum in a hope that she will brief me her own options. But she dint. Seems she was going through the same agony as if me.
Why is it easy to say those three magical words when too tough to understand them? Why is it easy to break up when moving on may not be possible?
Why should love happen to us? Why should I fall in love again?? Why should one love other?
Many questions but why don’t I get any answers.
Loving you is easy but deferring you is just not happening.
For next, I solve my “why”, I will keep the rest of sentence incomplete.
The rains have been the most awaited season of my life. I love the fresh rain falling on my perch, releasing the intense aroma of craving earth. I can relate myself to that lonesome earth, which gets drenched with the moisture of heaven.
I remember, when we used to make love. I could feel the goosebumps, every time I nibbled through that slender neck. The fervour of your love would last on my skin for the rest of day. Even after years, I starkly remember the days when I used to go to work after that morning love and your smell could linger on my body.
There were times when I resisted the artificial perfume on that orange skin. The freshness of last shower with water droplets on your tidy skin, melting my lust to the core. I remember those passionate scrubs when I licked off every tiny droplet of water off your skin.
Times, how we made love for hours sweating in the drizzles of monsoon on the terrace of a rented appartment. Times when the bike drives used to be romantic in the torrential rain.
Time has changed. How it changed me, I don’t realise until this season. Rains are no more a romantic stride. The season holds the melancholy of your memoirs. They bring pain. They bleed through my lonely heart in the agony of how we loved each other.
Recently a friend announced his relationship status through a post on social media. The partner was tagged in the same post. When I clicked on his partner profile, turned out she has updated a similar texts.
My inference, we call it a relationship, when both the parties agree to the terms of partnership.
I could not resist asking myself, “when people call it off, what happens to this verbal or virtual contract”?
Moreover, it’s not justified in my triggered brain, when do we call off?
When both agree to settle in together; we call it a relationship. What if, only one wants to peek out of the partnership and another one yet seeks the occupancy of binary. Should we say, it’s been called off??? Is there no value of one’s worth which was significant enough for signing in?
I often say, in the realist era of trending relationship, one owes the luxury to change the definitions of contract as per convinience. The binding of contract requires a blend of two molten hearts but the solvency of term subjects to the misery of a single heart.
On a law site, I found that they call it Divorce when both the parties agree to call it off. we are well versed with definition of divorce before we even know the right words of “I DO”
True love happens only once. If one fiddles. The next love will tentatively be based on compromises or carries the new terms towards the beneficiary.
Wether the second love happens or not. I know, it’s been called off when one moves on. I am unsure, when to call off if the one is yet on the hook.
The station we departed at, had an arrivals at the other end of its edge. Did we promise to meet at the arrivals?? If not, where shall we meet??
There were times we had dreamt of a house near countryside when age would allow us to settle down. I remember painting a canvas where we had cherish the age with the kids playing at a yonder. The dreams of youth, paints of slumber and graves of aged.
The time is floating, age is settling in. I wonder if it’s the time we should find each other again. Embrace that solace I find in your arms. Smell that Earth, I seek in your presence.
I remember, a promise to meet at a juncture. But it’s faded, where shall we meet ?
The visuals are still afresh, and the words lost in the noise of world. Perhaps this is what they call aging. When vocals are no more required and the visuals are enough for survival till final departure.