Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Why? Because I Love You.

He probed.
She was unsure.
But eventually yielded.
"I love you. You're beautiful."
She wont say it back.
No, scratch that. She can't say it back.
Carefully, very carefully, he tries all he can.

Take two.
One small push and she's all his.
Moving in perfect synchronization of body, of life.
How does she say it? 
Without him getting scared and backing off?
Her mind screams, "I love you! I fucking love you! And I've loved you all this while."
But her mouth stays locked in his.
The words lost in the heat of the moment. Drowned in passion.
"Relax," he says, sensing the urgency and the tenseness in her back.
She lets out a soft moan, as his hands move down, easing out all her apprehensions. 

They shift.
The kisses are different.
His more tearing. Hers, softer. Her hand caressing his face. Obvious love.
"It's funny how it never felt like this when we were together."
"Because when we were together, I was playing my part. The caring boyfriend one."
Muffled gasps. Sharp pain.
"So that was all an act?"
Long drawn sigh.
"Not really. I meant it when I was in it. It's just too taxing for a guy like me."
Unshed tears, distracted by tethering his body, embedding her nails in his arched back. 
Teeth gnawing supple skin.
Red. Color of hurt. Color of passion. Of love.

She strokes his forehead as he slowly moves her hair out of her face to get a closer look.
He doesn't call her beautiful. Something stops him. At the very edge.
But she wants to know. 

Lazy exhaustion. Slower kisses. Wild submission. Acceptance. Denial. Tired.
"Men don't understand, but this is the best part." Contentment.
Really? She wants to ask. Then how do you? Is it just me? Tell me! Talk out loud! 
"You have weird perceptions and estimations about yourself, you know..."
"Like what?"
He snuggles closer. His hand always in motion against her back. He kisses her head discreetly, thinking she can't tell. She can. She can always tell.
"Like this. You think you want this. You're a really good boyfriend for as long as you don't start thinking about it."
"Hmm..." he mutters with his eyes shut. Still holding her close. She doesn't think he realizes that this is the closest they've gotten in a long time. And it's the closest they will be, all bared, in a very, very long time to come.
"You wanna get a smoke?" 
This is it. She doesn't want to let go. She's finally found something comfortable. Comforting. Something that doesn't make her squirm, or jump back in disapproval and skepticism. She was scared she'd find out how irrevocable her feelings were where he was concerned if she ever landed up in something like this. And there you go. She found out. And it hit her so hard, that she doesn't mind not being carefully handled, or not called beautiful, or looked at with a certain kind of deep love only some pair of eyes can show her. For all she cares. Ravage my body. Be harsh yet truthful. Be the asshole my friends have been warning me about. Do exactly this to me, again and again and fucking again. But be mine. In whatever limited and warped form that may be possible.

She studies the marks he gave her on her upper torso, the moment she gets home, and stands in front of the mirror, running her hands smoothly over each one of them. And then slowly turns around to see a slightly different, lonely one at the nape of her neck. She doesn't touch it, but quickly looks away. Thinking of the marks on his body, there's some consolation that he can't do away with them any time soon. She smiles a soulless smile. This is not me. It's not who I am. What am I doing? 

Giving in because you're tired. Somebody answers. Consumed.

Tuesday, February 2, 2010


It's been a while since I spoke to you.
Say things I've wanted to.
Listen to what you have to say.
Chances are I wouldn't tell you anything out of the ordinary.
Neither would you come up with something I didn't already know.
We know each other too well for that.
Like the waves in the ocean, skimming the surface, not quite interacting with the dark waters, right at the bottom.
Yet somehow, fully versed with what every little, magnificent drop has to offer.
It's beautiful no?
Our relationship?

I'm aware of what reaction every little action would illicit from you.
There's something comforting in the knowledge that I can gauge, time and eventually smile an understanding smile.
The power that some invisible force of nature rendered to you, which enables you to reach out to me, before you really even do, is fascinating. 
I'm struck with wonder at the enormity of our emotions.
Strangely enough, we don't feel the same things.
If I tasted sour, you tasted sweet.
If I leaned in, you stood strong, ready to embrace me.
If I danced to self-composed tunes, you projected two left feet.
If you said North, I'd run South.
And such was how we lay perfect in our imperfections.

You were the white light passing through a prism, forced to burst into a spectacular array of shining colors. That was me.
Blinding all, with the brilliance of my joy. Happiness that was tangible.
We lent this inconceivable energy to the air around us, and forgot all about the prism.
Naturally it's lost now.
Allowing you to remain the seamless white light you always were, originating from nothingness. 
And me? Forget colors, grey or even white. I'm nothing.
Not a form of energy. Not of matter.

But let bygones be bygones. 
Today, as I watch you sitting diagonally across me, I wonder in amazement, how things change.
I don't feel hollow anymore. 
Something feels like it's been healed. And that's what's odd.
I didn't know what broke in the first place.
Of course, even now I can't jerk the wound. It needs its time.

I still look at you with affection, and know it's not love, but to me you're still a child that needs to be protected.
I know that that too will eventually change, and it has to, but I'm happy now, and I'm not thinking. Because I'm ready for whatever is next.
With you, or without you, I guess it'll have to do.
I have finally learnt that when there's somebody else looking out for it and relying on it, that is reason enough to smile.

Until then, I'll keep washing the shores, while you kiss the sea-bed, and when on a nostalgic night, the moon decides to boast, the tides will change, a storm will ensue, and who knows? We may just meet. Even if it's amidst the roiling waters...