The weather is just right. Sitting above a river bed with trains passing us by and a breeze blowing in. Busy crowds of people help us lose ourselves. It is rhythmic and serene. There is no need to be anyone else.
We have a choice. We could walk till there is no need to talk about yesterday or think of tomorrow or we could slip through the cracks. We could talk. Talk about school, talk about boys, talk about you and talk about me.
But what are words? What is it they do to you? You too know they are only a medium. A way to make you feel what I feel. Make you say what I want you to say. You know I like them. I like that they sing, I like that they paint. I like that they can talk when I cannot.
And I don't really know who you are, and you don't really know who I am. Just that you like the rain, and that day you chose to get wet in it. Chose to stick by me as I decided on madness over dryness. I still don't know why.
I am frightened and you know it. You don't try to placate me. You don't lie to me. You remember to treat me as an equal and you tell me you will still be there. When you reached out to me all those weeks ago, I thought you were delusional, but in a nice kind of way. I am glad you did.
I could thank you, but what is the point in that? You already know I am grateful. I already know you will do it again. Sometimes I cannot think beyond your presence in my life.
We talk about me and my captivation perplexes you. I don't really know why. He is, after all, unreasonably nice looking. We talk about you and I think yours is understandable. Maybe one day we will become photographs, and looking back we would think- yes, that was the moment.
I don't do these forever type things. Mostly because I am terrified you won't really have the time for them soon. But you are here now and that is good enough.
Oh, well. Let's just be.
Monday, 26 April 2010
Saturday, 17 April 2010
In the song of farewell, what will you remember?
Will it be that sunny noon or the passing ember?
When you meet another fate, what will you remember?
Will it be the passing shot or the spark re- kindler?
When you wake to shining dreams, what will you remember?
Will it be the trees we climbed or the playful banter?
When you brave a stormy night, what will you remember?
Will it be the friends you made or the dreams afire?
When you lie in an aching shell, what will you remember?
Will it be the soothing brace or the hurt avenger?
In the times you test your strength, what will you remember?
Will it be that first reward or the blight December?
When you smile at a passing stranger, what will you remember?
Will it be the day we met or the moving ayre?
When you make a virgin promise, what will you remember?
Will it be the songs we shared or the thundering ardour?
When you make a new beginning, what will you remember?
Will it be the passions etched or the rousing chatter?
As your life flows out again, what will you remember?
Will it be the arduous climb or the restful slumber?
In the shining dawn time,
in the wakeful nights,
I will remember your face, and smile because you smiled.