Today is the day. I smiled…
She came to me one day. I did not know why, and I never
asked. There was no need, no reason. She came to me and wrote ‘friend’ on my
arm. She wrote it with a drop of dew in the morning. She wrote it bold and
clear for the wind to see and tell the story to the rustling leaves. She came
to me like a shade in the summer, rain in the ocean. I did not ask why…I should
have…
“Sad. Isn't that the
most beautiful word? It has all the ache and loneliness that it tries to convey”
“Why do you ask?”
“Don’t know. Maybe
because that’s what I’m feeling right now. Sad”
“Hmmm…”
“What do you think is
the most beautiful word is?”
“Mine..”
********************
She was crying and I was holding her. I did not speak, just
held her, letting her know. The silence between us, interrupted only by her
sobbing, wasn't heavy. It did not need to be broken. When she looked up, her
eyes misty and red, I could see myself in them. She took my palm and wrote ‘love’.
She wrote it with the rays of morning sun. She wrote it soft and warm, so the
autumn moonlight would not see it and tell stories to the haughty nightingale. We
sat in silence… She held me now….
“Why is the ocean
always melancholic?”
“Is it? I think she is
the happiest creature in the world. She has the setting sun which always
returns back to it, she has the loving wind which would never leave it demure.”
“But yet, the one she
weeps for is the shoreline. She weeps for that which she could never have,
which always send her back with painful goodbyes.”
“Then it is because
she does not know when to let go.”
“Mmmm... Perhaps…”
I met her in the park, where she said she would be. She would
tell me. I knew what she would tell me. Yet I went. For I knew this would be the
last time I’ll see her. She had told about us to her parents the day before. She kept
herself calm as she talked to me. But I was not listening. Those words did not
matter, they were hollow. Hollow compared to what we were feeling. She was
talking about her father, showering her with diatribe..I was looking at her
eyebrows..her mother threatening suicide..I was lost in her hazel eyes...her
sister’s stunned silence..I was imagining my hands on her cheek..I did not hear
a word.
She took a broken shard of glass and scratched out the words in my arm
and palm. I tried not to look hurt.
I rose from the park-bench and started walking away. I did
not turn back once…
Today is the day. I smiled ruefully as I looked myself at
the mirror, trying to figure out what to wear. I did not put on any make-up,
she was not vain. I did not weigh my hair down with pins, she liked it better when
my hair was down and free. I knew what she would say, this would be the last
time I would see her.
...what are we, if not
trying to cheat a breath of air for ourselves...
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