We sat in the car and the night dropped down around us. The only sounds were the crickets and the dance of our voices. For a moment the world became small enough to roll back & forth between us. Everything was an adventure, at night. We were where we shouldn’t be, even if it was somewhere we could go perfectly well in daylight, and it was then only ordinary. It had something to do with the ebony veil that surrounded us. It all seemed right in the velvet hue.
Lying on the hood of the car we stared at the heavens like we belonged. The stars appeared first, as if someone had thrown a handful of silver across the edge of the world. Then came the moon smiling coyly as if he was a part of the plan. The wind tiptoed around listening in on our whispers. In that moonstruck moment, the rights and the wrongs got lost in ivory satin that wrapped itself around us, and we found life.
You may not be her first, her last, or her only. She loved before she may love again. But if she loves you now, what else matters? She’s not perfect—you aren’t either, and the two of you may never be perfect together but if she can make you laugh, cause you to think twice, and admit to being human and making mistakes, hold onto her and give her the most you can. She may not be thinking about you every second of the day, but she will give you a part of her that she knows you can break—her heart. So don’t hurt her, don’t change her, don’t analyze and don’t expect more than she can give. Smile when she makes you happy, let her know when she makes you mad, and miss her when she’s not there.
Even when he had been gone a long time, her mind was clouded with his thoughts. It happened a lot more on some days than others. Today was one of those when she had to push them away just so she could get some work done. She sat staring at the computer screen for a long time. Reading, yet not turning the page, just lazing around between the lines.
She could have done it for hours, but her dog had different plans. He needed to be taken out for his walk. She looked at his cute little face which had the most innocent eyes, looking back at her with his leash in his mouth. She shut her computer and walked to the door, with Mr. Bond in tow.
Walking on the usual route she kept her eyes on the casanova she was walking as he socialized with his clan. Just as the thought of he being a very well behaved dog crossed her mind, Mr. Bond ran, as if on a mission, pulling her along with all his might. She turned the corner behind him and her heart stopped beating even when it was racing. There were a lot of people on the side walk but her eyes saw just him.
He was down on one knee, holding the dogs face in his hands, telling him that he missed him. He looked up and met her eyes. She let the leash drop as he walked towards her. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. His hug said it all.
They stood there in a crowd sharing an intimate moment, kissing each others wounds as they healed. Caressing the torn skin and mending the broken parts within.
She always had that about her, that look of otherness, of eyes that see things much too far, and of thoughts that wander off the edge of the world when she wrote. She wrote because she needed to write, because she hoped someone will listen or because writing will mend something broken inside her or bring something back to life. She was stubborn, she was wise. She was immoderate and volatile. She spoke through her eyes, and mostly wore a disguise.
I was afraid
Not just love,
but to love her.
For she was a stunning
mystery. She carried things
deep inside her that no one
has yet to understand,
I was afraid to fail,
like the others.
She was the ocean
and i was just a boy
who loved the waves
but was completely
Meet me in an old book store, where the scent of pages harks back to the time when people used to live what they read.
Meet me on a rough grassy path in the park, where people used to walk to breathe, where there is a scent of wilderness to keep.
Meet me on the footsteps of a rainbow dream, where the colours are from your laughter, and where you find angels in the depths of your sleep.
Meet me on a cobblestoned street, where once mighty armies marched to a beat, where bugles sounded even in retreat.
Meet me on the strains of a guitar, where the rhythm lives inside you even as it hits you from afar.
Meet me in the rhythm of a song, when they play majestic violins as they sweep over the sea, where the only ones dancing are you & me.
Meet me in a poem, where the words are woven in a symphony, of timeless desire, of poignant pain and sighs of delight.
Meet me on a piece of paper, where timeless ink has left its mark, where the music is written but the song has yet to start.
“I read her eyes like paragraphs and her tears like chapters, for she didn’t have much to say with words, but rather, silence. And never let them tell you that silence, isn’t beautiful. For silence is what happens when words fall asleep and you must carry the belief that one day they will wake up inside of you.”
He loved her without desperation and needs and wants. With his naked soul, he loved her, and dreamt of her clothed in white dancing beneath the moonlight as the stars grew jealous of the way she moved.
Her eyes carried a certain kind of silence that begged to be understood and he felt as if he was a scientist, staring with eager, feverant eyes into galaxies that have not yet had the chance to be named.
It was rather beautiful: the way he put her insecurities to sleep. The way he dove into her eyes and starved all the fears and tasted all the dreams she kept coiled beneath her bones.
He loved her, not for the way she danced with his angels, But for the way the sound of her name could silence his demons.
He stood alone beneath the stars and shouted to the heavens at the top of his lungs and gazed at the stars that shined beautifully when the sky swallowed her name.
*A story based on the poems of Christopher Poindexter
Every evening she lit the lamp that hung on the Palash tree, so he wouldn’t get lost on his way back home. The tree was dead now like the look in her eyes. They had both been alive and blooming once. That was before he went away, leaving behind only a promise of return. The tree had given up after waiting for what seemed like forever. She was stubborn, she could wait for another eternity and beyond for him. The pain of the wait made her feel alive. She found pleasure in the pain.
Photo credit: Harshad Sharma http://www.harshadsharma.com