Archive | May, 2016

Lumos

23 May

I trudge up the steps as the curtains fall on yet another day. I walk to the terrace and see the inky blanket they call the night sky dotted with innumerable windows to the past. As I trace their outlines and join them to form constellations, a plane goes through the small circle my thumb and forefinger makes, ripping apart the fabric of my cosmos. And in that one instant, I hear my heart stop. Is it you on the plane I wonder. Each time I see a plane, I want to ask you, are you coming home? And in the few seconds it takes for me to go down this road, the plane has flown past.

Was my heart always glass? Or did you turn sand through fire?

***

One side of a paper. White. Unblemished. Not so much as an ink drop. Pristine. I wonder if it will be enough to hold all I feel. The longing pours itself drenching the words with a hint of brine. I scoffed at the idea of barely half a page to tell you what I saw when I went to places I have never been. Now I am out of words as I realize that there was never a moment when something didn’t remind me of you. The mountains, the meadows, the sculptures, the paintings. I can see your look of indulgence and exasperation as you come with me to places you didn’t know existed if only to hold my hand and kiss me as you listen to me ramble about how breath-taking something was and why. And so I try to cross the oceans between us, if only for a moment, as you complete the circuit by thinking of me.

***

© My Rickety Typewriter, 2016; Vintage Ink.
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