I asked him to play tonight. I wanted to hear him play.
It was always a soothing rhythm. Something that helped me reinforce my convictions. That everything around me is wonderful. It masks out all the noise around, the thoughts gnawing at the back of my mind, on the rickety shelves I no longer bother to dust. The bottled memories often clink, trying to catch my attention. I pay no heed because I cannot afford to get lost in their scent anymore. The smell of tobacco flowers, my favorite scent. Tuberose and lily of the valley; a whiff of my comfort zone.
I was lost in thoughts. He kept playing. The music felt strange tonight. There was a subtle change which I could faintly discern. And it got better. And beautiful. It made me want to sing along with him. I was at a loss for words, I had never bothered to sing before.
The tempo was rising.I couldn't stop the tears. The music rattled the shelves and brought all the bottles down. There was a multitude of emotions, there was the green grass we once laid upon, the pretty rainbow I loved as a child, the ocean you took me to see, the stolen kisses, the big bright moon, the tight hugs and the forgotten goodbyes, the stray hair on my forehead you brushed away. There were shades of red- the cards, the balloons and the blood.
And then it started. The downpour I had been waiting for. He was playing away, blind to the waves he was sending across my way. The tears ran down my cheeks. It was beautiful, like never before. The memories which caused all the havoc stood silently watching me cry. They had finally reached out to me.
It was always a soothing rhythm. Something that helped me reinforce my convictions. That everything around me is wonderful. It masks out all the noise around, the thoughts gnawing at the back of my mind, on the rickety shelves I no longer bother to dust. The bottled memories often clink, trying to catch my attention. I pay no heed because I cannot afford to get lost in their scent anymore. The smell of tobacco flowers, my favorite scent. Tuberose and lily of the valley; a whiff of my comfort zone.
I was lost in thoughts. He kept playing. The music felt strange tonight. There was a subtle change which I could faintly discern. And it got better. And beautiful. It made me want to sing along with him. I was at a loss for words, I had never bothered to sing before.
The tempo was rising.I couldn't stop the tears. The music rattled the shelves and brought all the bottles down. There was a multitude of emotions, there was the green grass we once laid upon, the pretty rainbow I loved as a child, the ocean you took me to see, the stolen kisses, the big bright moon, the tight hugs and the forgotten goodbyes, the stray hair on my forehead you brushed away. There were shades of red- the cards, the balloons and the blood.
And then it started. The downpour I had been waiting for. He was playing away, blind to the waves he was sending across my way. The tears ran down my cheeks. It was beautiful, like never before. The memories which caused all the havoc stood silently watching me cry. They had finally reached out to me.
"And that’s when the meaning of the dream hit me even while I was inside its architecture: this was my psyche’s coping mechanism. For dealing with the fact that I would never have you. Sour grapes from the subconscious.
We think the longing ends. But it doesn't. It finds a new language. Sneaks on us from behind." - From Labyrinths, by Philips John.
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