A chronicle of the misadventures of a would be writer

Thursday, March 4, 2010


Is it really late in the night or is it very early in the morning? Time hasn't made much sense in the last few days (or is it weeks). Well I don't really care. Stagnant and fluid in the same moment as it is, I have become impervious to time. Still, it looks like it is almost dawn. The India ink spilled sky looks just a shade lighter. And it feels..., well I couldn't be as flippant as to call it good but somehow it feels less bad, out alone at this hour. The crunch of the dried leaves is a welcome sound after my self imposed silence. All this while I had blocked out the world, its sounds, whispers, voices, sighs, moans and thoughts, trying hard to preserve whatever memories are left. I embrace my self harder. It is partly the wind, it feels a little chilly, partly because I feel lonely and hug deprived. But mostly I am just trying to remember what it felt like in your big, warm arms. I close my eyes and inhale deeply. Yes, i still remember the exact colour of you eyes, every contour of your face. I remember your voice and how it changed with your every emotion. I remember the feel of your skin, your hair. I remember how nice you smelt. I remember every bit, for now at least. It scares me. I do not want to forget how dark your brown eyes were or the exact citrus peppery smell of you, but I know I will eventually. Even now, with every step I can feel a little of you slipping away. I am searching hard for that baritone voice of yours. It comes no more to my ears and only faintly to my mind. But I still feel jello-fied like I always used to and it almost makes me smile. At least I can still feel you, a right I refuse to relinquish. It does feel like near dawn. I think I'll go and give in to the deceptively peaceful slumber. And when I wake up, maybe it will finally be morning.

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