Weathering Away

 

It scares me sometimes on how little do I remember of the time before you.

Though at times I feel that perhaps losing much of past, wagering it against spending time with you was worth it. It far outweighs anything.

They tell me that I should just take it easy. It might take some time to recover, for it must be bitter, even though I never felt that bitter aftertaste. I wonder why, it is indeed awkward isn’t it? That lump in your stomach, the clot in your heart and then everything becomes silent which takes me to places.

Places like the silence before the incumbent rain.

I wonder why you wouldn’t look me into the eyes then, and my enquiry only made you angry. You told me that you were running late.

The station was buzzing with swarming heads. The crowd pushed in to avoid the rain while I watched you move away. But the damning thing was your pace, and it dawned upon me then that I knew too much about you.

The clouds broke loose and I had no strength to grip on to present. You held an umbrella, yet you held it closed, carrying it by your side as you splashed away under those broken night lights. So, I ran, to outrun your poor camouflage. I couldn’t hide, and I didn’t mind if I sucked. All I knew that I have to catch you now.

I hugged you on a rainy night on the street corner when everyone was in a hurry. Regardless of the state of the universe, I remember that there was silence in that moment, an agreement for silence in between us, except for the beating hearts, in synchrony and finely intertwined.

You may call it being seeping into nostalgia but perhaps that is the feeling which never goes away. And yes, the silence prevails, as I found you slowly drifting away.

Pieces of rocks slowly weather away in the carnival of rust, as at this precipitance I find you scattered everywhere, seeing you reflected in my eyes.

Living separately, the sky that seemed to shine bright once, has started to cry in unison again.

Yet, it is only the corner of the heart that has not changed.

Until it withers away.

Picture Credits: Memories of Fall

Being Your Friend

Let’s be very honest here. Making friends is quite difficult; at least that is for me.

So, what do we do then?

The one advice was to put yourself out there in the friendship market and to try and explore. Figuring out. You never know, things might just work out.

Or it can turn out to be a nightmare which leads to a state that you have to feed into your nostalgia to make yourself feel better.

Perhaps it is in the abstraction of the definition of being a friend that confuses me, as things have had become so materialistic. I fail to perceive why don’t we see the spiritual value?

All these thoughts brimmed my mind as stark self-reflection when I did want to talk to you.

You see, it all started when I saw you at the library, being by yourself, peering into the notes in your laptop and scribbling and revising onto your notebook with vicious seriousness.

Your meticulous use of the pencil to fix your hair, to ensure that the strands don’t keep falling on your face, and not disturbing your gaze as you adjust your spectacles with your small tender arms was anything but a nice sight to have; especially in an environment where silence is the norm.

That was perhaps it, the silence, that it unraveled in me the feeling, smiting me slowly as I kept coming back every day to see you perform your chores. You would notice me sometimes, but then I would quickly shift my gaze away or pin my head on my book, yet, I never had the courage to get up and talk to you.

A feeling of a binding force repelling one against the move. Makes one think on why it is so difficult talk to someone.

Though smitten by your appearance, I knew nothing about you. Hence, I would only like to know you. But that is the problem isn’t it? The synchronization of the heart and mind are not the same for most of the time and definitely, you don’t want to creep the other person out.

Yet, the inner yearning to quench the soul, and to fulfil the thirst of information, forces you to take impulsive decisions.

That day when the bell struck at noon, our eyes finally met for a brief time, and then I decided that I would not shift my gaze this time. And you kept staring at me, forcing a wry smile at the corner of your face, enough to push me out of my space.

I knew then that I had to do something about it. Getting up and moving in nervous motion, I made my way towards you, while you stayed affixed with a grin on your face. Impulsiveness does not tell you on how to frame your introductions, yet it could only work in mysterious ways.

Hence, I said:

“Can we be friends?”

Credits: HutaChan