She sat still on the windowsill
Looking down at the street below.
The mother of 4 juggling the groceries,
The mad man singing about getting killed on Friday,
The vagabond trying to sell rattraps to whoever would look him in the eye,
The giggling girls talking about boys they’ve loved before.
She sat there, staring, and speculating.
She was there. And, yet not.
She was thinking about the time gone by.
She was thinking about the days wasted.
She was thinking about the past that flew by her, unnoticed.
She wanted to live again, and not just exist.
She wanted to take it all in, and not just breathe.
She wanted her life back.
She wanted to live.
I won’t moralise about what I’ve learned but I can tell you this: in my experience, telling the truth can land you in just as much shit—err, crap, as lying. More sometimes. Sure, a lie can trap you; it can crush you immediately or slowly weigh you down until you suffocate. But telling the truth won’t necessarily set you free; it can cost you everything you love the most. And it can force you to face yourself, as painful as that may be.
SECRETS are lies in their own right. One can’t keep a secret without a lie. And we revere someone who can keep a secret, yet scorn those who lie. It is the same. They all meld together. We want confidantes to surround us, trustworthy and loyal. But we scream bloody murder when we find someone has been keeping secrets from us. We forget to remember the fact that they could be someone’s confidante themselves. Or maybe it’s not their secret to tell. And, maybe not ours to know either. Secrets we have with our cronies are revered. They make our bond grow stronger. Secrets they have with someone else, us being not on the in, ruin relationships of years past. We love, we fight, we cry over those secrets. But we can’t live without them. They rule us and all our actions. They control us in ways we would destroy lives to get away from the pressure of revealing them than succumb. But we won’t let go. Every now and then, the slate is clean and we have the opportunity to move forward without any of it weighing us down. But another day dawns and ding! We are back to square one, surrounded by beautiful lies and lovely secrets, ever strengthening the stench of desperation to be the one holding all the cards where the bets are high and the game has just begun.
The untrusted word The broken promise The knife in the back The smile behind the hand The lies and laughter The bitchy disaster The unlikely recovery The fake concern The non-sensical question The anger returns There’s no hurt There’s no sadness It’s all anger now. Vicious anger. Ready to over flow, Like hot lava all over.
P.S. It’s been so long since I wrote something like that. Not that I have improved over the years. Not even a bit. But, well, it is what it is.
Ghosts blew through the deserted corridors of his soul like gusts of cold wind. His eyes. It looked like nothing resided in those icy blue globes. But for a fleeting second I saw whole universe swimming in there. Then the shutters dropped as if it never was. That half-grin of his was just that –a wry twist of his lips, trying to hide the real beauty behind it. It was nothing like his real smile. That was a breathtaking sight. When he smiled, people stopped and stared. But he didn’t do it often. No. It was as if he was afraid of smiling; as if the reason behind it would be taken away from him if he showed even a sign that he was a normal, lovable person. He acted like an emotionless, ice-hearted asshole who only did what he wanted to without giving a shit about anyone. But, I saw the truth. I saw that he was a guy with heart of gold and most colorful mind.
Those whiskey eyes Drenched in her heart blood, Staring silently into the darkness. Long eyelashes wet With the dew of her soul’s rains. The dark half moons under her amber jewels More pronounced than ever. They are the I’ve-seen-it-all eyes, Laden with experiences of numerous lives past. She has no crow’s feet. She’s young. But her precious eyes tell a different story. She’s lived through it all. Those liquid gold eyes have been witness. Numbness is her friend. Her eyes know it even better.
He brought with him the scent of the rain The first shower of monsoon. The decadent smell of earth permeated their nostrils. They inhaled deeply as if it was their last breath and they were dying.
She couldn’t smell. She wouldn’t smell. Instead she chose to taste him. Breathing him in was as detached as something could be. She wanted to get so close to him she would feel his soul stir.
Eye contact. Glances were exchanged, eye to eye. Smiles were returned, mouth to mouth. Messages back and forth, heart to heart.
She went up behind him and tasted his neck. His skin tasted like the most delicious chocolate, a hint of wood, a pinch of bitter. She could taste the passion wafting from the pores of his skin. It tasted raw. It tasted real.
She found a drop of sweat ready to roll down the curve where his life beat met his shoulders. Intermingled with his anger and aggression, It tasted of his struggles and hard work. It tasted of salt, grainy with a hint of satisfaction. He was like the most delicious coffee she sipped on a Sunday afternoon while re-reading her favorite book.
Licking along the rhythmically beating pulse, she discovered his dreams. He had his own personal universe hidden inside him. Nobody had discovered it. Nobody had dared. The rhythm spoke of days past. It had been steady. It was galloping now. He wanted her to discover him. He wanted her to know.
She felt the secrets evaporate from the top of his skin. They were all around her now. They were all in the air just like his smell. Nobody realized. Nobody cared. All they wanted was to soak in the smell of him. His essence, only she discovered.
She knew she had stumbled upon something special. It was a gift only she received. Others weren’t privy to his deep thoughts and beautiful heart. She was. She knew.
Staring deep into the eyes again, They discovered each other’s galaxies. He was ready to taste her now. He was ready to discover her. She was ready to be discovered. She had been starving before. The satiation came at last.