He wakes
up from a splitting headache. The bedside clock shows 3am. The night is as
still as the sea. It’s as if one would wake up a sleeping baby if you breathe a
little louder.
The
headache is from the cheap red wine he had with her last night.
"We are cheap drunks," she says as she pours the wine like a craftsman at work. "But I prefer drinking straight from the bottle," he thinks as he watch her take a sip of it. They had gone out for a couple of drinks after work.
Their conversation on society, culture, politics, religion, humanity,
arts, ideas, beliefs and literature always excites him way too much.
He has seen her for the
last two decades yet it makes him anxious to see her again. Beads of sweat appears on his
forehead at the thought of seeing her again. Being with her is talking excitedly about his passion. She challenges
his thoughts, dreams and excites his soul.
He still
cannot fathom what it is with her. Is it the way she perceives the world? The way
she tries to express about a thing? The way she puts it, ever so articulately?
Those dreamy eyes and her porcelain skin. He can never get over it, he thinks
as he listen to her describe the outline of the
book she’s planning on writing.
At times
he thinks she is the strongest woman he has ever known. Invincible! No force on
earth can subdue her. Yet when he look deep into her eyes, he’s convinced that
there’s a fragile child deep inside whom he wants to protect and seal her
forever in the tablet of his heart.
Conversations
with her always surrounds on books, writings and philosophy.
The mundanes of life ; growing up, going to college, getting married by 25, making
babies,
saving for the old age and finally leaving this planet seems things of another
life. There’s stillness of time when with her.
Adele’s ‘Hello from the other side...’ is heard softly in
the car’s stereo.
How can
one be so satisfied this one moment? He often thinks. Yet when he is with her on
that spot overlooking the valley in the distant city lights, away from the
humdrum existence of life, this is what it should feel like, when I breathe my
last, he thinks as he stare at her lips and hands talking
about the surrealism of life.
I wish i could write a story like you :) Good one dear
ReplyDeleteI wish i could write a story like you :) Good one dear
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