Lady in red.

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#napowrimo
Day 11

"Hold your breath"

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I realised,
when I shaved my beard today, after six months.
Tears rolled down my cheeks,
split up when they touched my scars.
Took me down the memory lane,
when she told me to leave,
slammed the door at me.
Crashed, while I had my mind off the road,
I fell & hurt myself, though not for her this time.
Was in confusion, to treasure or to rue,
those tears.
Didn't even have a photo of us, together,
to recollect, our memories,
still nostalgia, zoned me out.
Was I blind? Or she just couldn't see?
While her only complain was about people not being constant,
couldn't she count, the time, I stayed?
Far away yet so close,
always did remain just "anyone" for her.
Perhaps it's fate, or her,
the scars are permanent, but she's gone.
As I shed some more tears,
I enquired, myself, that,
with all the unsteadiness,
and scars she's given me.
Who'd accept me?
Or would I ever accept,
someone else?

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Where people hold their breath
less in excitment
&
more in public toilets.!

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Back then, I used to laugh.
I knew the entire colour palette
by heart.
Hold your breath!
I used to hate white.

Well, I still hate it.
Far too perfect, if you ask me.
I used my laughter in painting
my room crimson, at times.
Do not ask me, why it's faded
now.
I wouldn't answer you.
I do not have an answer.

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Drowning doesn't seem
like a real threat
when you've been holding
your breath all your life.

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My mother usually joins me in
the living room,
challenging me to a game
where we compete
to fill up the crossword
as quick as we can,
timers sit on our tongues
and words are sneakily googled
in short bathroom breaks,
but not these days.

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Something was so different about today.
It was the routine fun, the routine bickering, the routine laughter.
But, wasn't there a tinge of absurd to the routine?
We were splashing blues on the monotonous reds and somehow the stars were engrossed with the whole fiasco.
Instead of the jabbering, I guess we let the silence win for once.
And viola!
Wasn't it beautiful?
It was. It was beautiful, love.
It was magnificent.
In all the confusion, all the anxiety and all the thoughtless fights there was the pristine clarity we'd been searching for.
Next time we'll wait for the birds to chirp and compare the melody to the silence.
We'll let the silence win.
Again.

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Cold showers and oceans
don't have much of a difference
when you lock the door.

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Your lips
are an anomaly,
the sweetest side
of death.

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