WORDS OF LOVE
Fingers in my hair
Gaze staring right into my eyes
The intensity of the emotion
Knocking my breathe away.
Laughter echoing around
Smiles shinning in the sun
The knowing glances
And the whispers sent my way.
Bright, very bright days
Chasing the dark nights
Beauty of the presence
Asking me to beg and stay.
Loud whispers breaking the trance
Oh! The memories hitting me
Beautiful lies and ugly truths
Torment and torture, but do not slay.
Maybe oblivion is escape
Running from the ‘love’
Afraid to accept and give
But hey! I had just intended to play.
So, maybe it meant nothing, and less than nothing to him. Should not have meant anything to me, but it did. I did not need that, but I did. I wanted it, not desperation, but curiosity. The walls built around him, I wanted to break them and make him hear those words of love. I wanted to be in, I wanted to KNOW.
He pushed me away, with deft hands, flaring with defiance, his face masked with the effort to keep me out. Maybe I should have done things differently, felt his need, and his secret longing. Maybe I should have shown him who I was, rather than the layer of nonchalance and the air of indifference. The act, the pretense and his eyes, have kept me awake. Those eyes have haunted me in my dreams. I want to see them smile, I want to see them alive not resigned.
I want to know him. HIM for real. I want to know the colour of his eyes when he smiles in the sun. I want to see the wave of his hair ruffled with the breeze as he runs on the field. I wish to see his face when he is thinking. Sometimes when he is engrossed in doing something he loves, his face lights up and that smile is bewitching. The smirk when he is feeling particularly mischievous. But all too soon, he shuts me away again, and all I can do is stand there breathless, basking in whatever he shared with me, and craving to tell him the words of love i have been weaving since i have known him.
I want him to feel again, feel and admit that he did. The wide walls demolished, not for all, but me. And I walk with him, down any road he wants to take. I want to feel his trust as he confides his deepest fears, happiest memories and the annoying troubles. I want to laugh with him, feel his pulse beating through mine, and look into his eyes to find peace. I want him to listen to those words of love i have been keeping inside my heart.
I know life has been hard on him, particularly stripping him away off his strengths. What I love about him is that he is still fighting. Maybe not winning the fight, but he is not giving up. Each and every day I see him rebel, rebel against what wounds time has given him. He is not left unscathed in this ordeal, and I see the way he is now molded into what he is now. Somewhere in my sick sense of personal love, I am grateful I could have him in my life because of this. I will gladly take him scars and all. To me he is beautiful.
But this has made him scared, scared of accepting. Scared of expecting and scared of loving in general. And I cannot even blame him for not taking the plunge, because I can see his sense of self-preservation dominating over his need for love. Again, I am brought to the full cycle and I ask myself again, What if I had done it differently. Gratification from asking and asking myself over and over again, can be kissed goodbye because there is no correct question and hence, no correct option and no correct answer. Maybe this conflict is what makes us human.
Torture, torment and torment and torture.
And no other way
Enduring and waiting out whatever this is,
Waiting for it to go away.
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