A few days ago, as we were watching some movie, lying on your shoulder, wrapped up in a blanket, a tear or two escaped my eye. I know it was not out of contentment, and definitely not out of love. But still, I wonder, what was it? Was it out of guilt? Or out of regret about what I planned to do? Was it about me feeling ashamed of needing someone, of wanting some warmth, knowing its just a veneer, for the lack of something better?
Half an hour into the movie, I sneak in closer, just lost in my own thoughts when you start caressing my hair. And I don't know if I should stop you now, or just go with it, one last indulgence? I decide to stop you after some time, because Oh God, that felt so good, and I did need it after a long tiring week. I continue watching the movie, letting you continue with your small antic. And then suddenly, you ask, "What's going on?"
I just look at you, brush my fingers across your cheek, and say, "Nothing!! That's the whole point. There's nothing to look forward to. And that means I am currently leading a seriously boring life. Why?" You just nod, kiss my forehead and we continue with our own fritters. But I think, what could I say? How could I answer it anyway? How could I let you know what was going through my head, something that I was afraid to even think about, afraid that if I am rational about it, I will back off?
I always wanted the kind of love that appreciated the parts of me that I had kept from the world, keeping which by the way, required immense courage. Never did I want the 12 months, 24*7 kind of company, just that, the kind of love, even the tinge of which made sure, I never felt alone or helpless in life. I don't want someone to walk every step with me, I just want someone who's major turns in life are parallel to mine. And at this point in time, I had given up hopes of such kind of companionship. Apparently, true love was easier to find :P I giggle thinking this when you think it's because of the tickling caused by your hand, which btw, now was resting at my waist... trying to decide between pulling me closer or finding the hem of my T-shirt. I leave that decision to you and continue with my movie.
I sometimes feel bad for blaming so many people for so many things. It was me, after all, who let them happen. Sometimes I wonder, did all those things even really happen? Do those things really deserve as much credit as my mind, my whole existence gives them? Or is it some idiot person inside me who wants to tragedize everything and make a big deal out of nothings? I squirm as your hand finds the hem of my T-shirt and moves upward beneath it, brushing against my sides. And anyway, who chooses to pull closer, other than the classic romantic novel protagonist and rom-com heroes?
But I admit, it does feel good. One last indulgence. And the "last" there adds a different kind of thrill to it altogether. My hand follows your hand, till your palm, resting it there, I ask, "Why aren't you disappointed with me?" You turn your head and gaze questioningly, like a cute little pup who is blissfully unaware of the chaos around, the only thing that matters to him is why is his favourite hooman sad. I further explain, "I have gotten all withdrawn. I am no more the smart, witty, pretty girl you fell for? Well, you slipped up to :P I have lost my charm in bed. I am just a shadow of who I was, and yet, you never said anything?"
"I may not be the brightest one out there, but I know people get drawn in sometimes. They wait for something big, something disruptive to happen to them, only to realise that, it is never gonna happen. I had befriended someone special, someone, who saw magic and awe in everything around her, a feat in itself. And now, when she's looking at the world for the dull and monotonous time-space continuum it is, she has just fallen down to the level of ordinary. I now relate more to you :P But yes, you might be disappointed with yourself, I ain't."
"And talking about beauty, beauty is not what you think it is,... I might be a slave of skin and flesh, but any bloke knows a real beauty when he sees it. A girl is most beautiful when she's on the verge of breaking age-old norms or when she's drunk and she's proud of it... Now I am eager to see what kind of beauty would people see in you after a few days..." No more a few seconds than my brain had registered this unexpected flash of enlightenment, especially from you, I find the hand sliding to explore me further. And I sigh. You had probably used up your quota of a year of deep talks.
But that made me think, it takes a different kind of courage to keep life interesting every damn moment. And no one can be courageous every damn moment of his life. Well, except in fiction. Because after all, what is fiction? Distortion of yours or someone else's reality. A cover-up for the extent the human minds can go so that all of us can live in our own bubbles of reality!
And this opened up some passageway.. Somehow I stopped suffocating... And turned towards the idiot who made me realise that, and kissed him like it was my last. It was indeed my last kiss.. The last kiss with a failed plan to end things, people and dreams.., the kiss before my point of inflection :D !!
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