I used to imagine that you were made of lullabies or of something rare, treasured in a jar of spices. Your every touch releases a thousand doves into the rarefied air. Yet you preferred to unravel the tightly knotted shadows of trees and explore the inky singularities spreading all around. The cosmos was an enormous kaleidoscope for you which you shook, prodded, tilted and turned and stared and stared, finding new perspectives, colours and exquisite patterns in the shape of ordinary things. I put mirrors around you so that you could look inwards within you away from the world and in the process find me too, a quiet shadow watching you, watching you...trying to see if I might catch you watching me, atleast once. But you were too engrossed in how the light bounced off your ebony curls, in the hypnotic depth of your twilight eyes and in the bronze glow of your arms. I knew you had a tendency to stand too close to the edge of the ocean unmindful of the waves, or to walk off through some tangled, forgotten paths leading to snowy peaks, no matter how much I try to hold you back in the desperate ardour of my embraces. I interlaced you then, along with all the pomegranate-scented days, into a dark wall - an air-tight wall around my soul so that I am immured in my secret wilderness along with my convictions. The truth is unbearable. I would like to smoke up, get high on a heavy joint of delusions. I know you might find it silly, sitting stoically at the edge of the cliff your skin tasting of peanuts and warm bay leaves. But it’s not your fault; you see, I know you are incapable of seeing me as I am - with all my unicorns and all my wounds.
Picture: An interesting picture I found on my paper cup sometime back.