“I - Abstract”

I have a life wrapped up, much as one of the unused carpets in my house. I move on one step at a time and fall back a dozen. Maybe I should just turn the other way round, at least that ways I shall run eleven steps a time. The logic defies the gravity of thoughts.

I lie flat on my back and run the fingers along the clouds. The magic no longer titillates. The feather fingers along the silk of your back no longer inspires that cold shiver along your spine that once made you curl into my being. The magic slips away from my fingers like sand.

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I get up from my corner and get to my desk, only to find that the chair I used was sold to the scrap dealer long time ago. I can’t stand the ordeal, well no longer now. The patience and the back have both been worn out by the constant grinding of the rope against the corner stone. The elixir of thoughts no longer can mask the stench from the well.

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I am abstract today, I guess I have always been so. Perhaps there was a time when you could read and decipher my abstraction. Maybe I did not go anywhere and it was you who lost the little power to read my soul. Maybe the torrid rains did wash the words off the pages. 

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I can see that the grey clouds have settled in below the ceiling of the home that we built in your notebooks. Ah…those were the days…when the silence prevailed and the furtive glances would say it all. It’s different now, isn’t it? We are verbose yet the meaning eludes the frame of all the words said.

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I guess this has been tormenting enough. I have been circling around the wound, licking it along the sides and perhaps avoiding the blood completely. The scab brushes against my stubble and I shirk back – don’t know if I shall ever be ready to go back in time. I know the formula though. I have learnt that to travel in time one needs to run at the speed of light. However that too only enables you to visit the future. Maybe to go back, we should allow all others to run ahead of us.

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I shall sit by this brook and watch the sun go down behind the grey hills as you decide if you want to slow down and let years go by or if you wanted to walk with me at my pace, holding my hand. No matter what you choose, I guess when my eyes and knees fail me, I shall still be around waiting for you to come by. Maybe then our warm silence shall rule us again.

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I am surprised at the way every sentence I wrote began with an ‘I’. Did I become so predominant that my ego eclipsed the shine of your countenance? Or is this just another figment of my imagination that you no longer beam the radiance of your smile when I am around?

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