4 am shenanigans

It was the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.  I was filled with jitters inside my stomach, butterflies launching a torpedo. So much so that the keys wouldn’t fit in my door’s lock. One attempt, two, three..darn!..after n attempts…finally! my door obliged. The anticipation to see him was at a sky-high. As I walked a bit through my door, I saw this shadow of a guy on his bike. Oh the shadow! One of the street lights had chosen not to burn bright that night. He could see me, but I not him, subjecting me to a second later of first impression. Then he drove past the darkness and came to light. Our eyes met and mine dropped immediately after, trying to process my thoughts. It was a nice feeling. I was shy and comfortable all together. That was the first time I was meeting him. I didn’t see him much later on. But every time we meet, pit of my stomach jitters the very same. Every meet feels like a first one. I figure our first meet wasn’t the last. 

P.S.: This week seems all about the prompts. I am having fun doing them though! 🙂 <3

Voluntary Indiscretions

We lived a moment of sheer joy. There was peace, there was ecstasy. There was fire, there was warmth. Your arms were a safe haven for me. My frailty did good to your virility. Yes, it was almost picture perfect. Now, you want to talk about it? I say, don’t ruin it for me. Why kill something by stretching it too far. Moments are not a ductile tape. Let them be intact. Let’s not defame it from our words, our logical reasonings, our shallow promises, our moral compasses. I can’t stand you falsely wanting for me and pretension is not my forte. Let’s take a place in each other’s memory and move ahead. You need to understand, we are not Romeo and Juliet. We are only some transitory outcomes of our impulsive indiscretions. Brutal but true.

Beautiful-Sad Endings

Does it help, if I admit that I miss you at molecular level. Or if I say you are snatching away my nights. Does my abnormality resulting from your silence give you relief. Should I mention the constant residual uneasiness you have bequeathed upon me. I don’t find the need to check my cell phone these days. I don’t ponder lately on how I look in front of the mirror. Couldn’t you beguile me a little less? Couldn’t you have loved me a little fainter? Why was the passion required. Were those unrestrained talks really necessary. I am on a thin line between whether I want to recover from you or not. I fear nothing would match up to you and when it does, I would fear forgetting you. Mind isn’t ready to stack you as a thing of the past. You might be indifferent. You might have moved on. You might be yearning. You might have come in terms. You might be struggling too. I have no way to find. For a moment I wish I was little more self obsessed so I could think less of you. Love and the trepidation it brings along!

Then again, I don’t want us to be uncertain. Paddling with insecurities. I will accept our fall. I will embrace your absence in my bones, make it a part of living. Life shouldn’t stop on incomplete stories. We’ll be fine, you and I. Our story, short, romantic, fervent, incomplete, beautiful, sad; but our’s at the end.