Unbecoming

Gosh, I used to believe that gulping down three glasses of red wine would make me not to cringe at the things I was starting to feel lately because at the end, I was mere a starter in the realm of alcoholism and in the deserts of solitude.

 

But things well planned of, never yield results if you’re somewhere dreadful of the other tamed self inside you amongst many others. I never knew the memories I was trying to escape from, are nonetheless irreplaceable.

 

Falling in love with him was a gentle gush of cool breeze that summer offers you when it is high, so that you wait for it more, while getting scorched in its heat. That is how summer is so attention seeking perpetual being, you see.

 

The hands intertwining and toe curling came first and the smiles and soulful laughter much later, because falling to non-mattered rudimentary pieces was a pre requisite to fall for his existent pieces as that would be how I was to know my vulnerability that I had long bequeathed him.

 

Summer had to end as the spring was adamant to dole out its fleeting colours on my white feathers of dismal intuitions.

 

Those were the times the clouds came in a silver lining to my window everyday to dance with the symphony of my breaths and thumping heart.

 

An exclusively shared place was given to him in the stars I used to float upon, that was only built for me because I was finally coming to terms of what day dreaming actually was.

 

Love is after all, remembering all the subtle details. Maybe it is all the minutia the mind creates when you prepare poems and poems for him but fail to write it down on the paper, nevertheless, it wouldn’t matter because that dilemma only the ink can understand, and it won’t crib.

 

And the seasons, yes they change. Winters became the envoy of the last resort, in a phase when I needed no validation on the idea of him, on the pride of me having him.

 

Winter acted like my mom who had to take my favourite childhood blanket when I was asleep because there was no way I’d give it to the washer when I would be in my senses.

 

And so, I made intoxication synonymous to winters and embodied him with my glasses of red wine.

 

My heart was concurring that the suffocation would smother him too, and in flash of eternity, when my eyes were shut, I saw him like an approaching death and I am still not sure whether my lips actually met his in that moment, or my soul was peeled off, that had his mark-never to be embellished and preserved again.

 


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