Wednesday, June 12, 2013

For you...anytime, everytime.

In the almost pitch dark and the loud blaring music, I could barely hear what you were trying to speak to me. But when your arms swept across to my waist and got me closer , face to face, I din't feel the need to hear any words. So close enough that your warm breath on my face felt like a sweet whisper. It was the briefest embrace I have ever been in, but that one moment felt like an eternity. Your warm lips on mine and I could feel the very essence of being in love. Was this it? Was this how being in love felt like?

My head reeled.

It was a mad rush to get home and just be in each other's arms. As soon as possible. The chilling cold winds, the loud hoots at 3AM from the drunk youngsters on the roads did nothing to slow our hurried paces. We fumbled with the lock and somehow made it inside the house. And then we made love. Not once, Not twice. Till it was dawn and you had to leave. Your fingers don't fumble when you open my clothes, but I pretend your expertise doesn't bother me. Never before had being in love or making love felt so right. Never before did I ever want the sun to not rise in the horizon.

But, were we in love?

For you, I was just a celebration of your vanity. Your love was elsewhere. We made love. And you spoke to her, at every interval you got. Called her up to ask her how she’s doing, what she had for breakfast, whether she made it to work on time. Called her every day to tell her how you are doing. What you did in your day.

Of course there was no mention of me ever.

We never spoke. I might have just as well been yet another pillow in the bed. What I assumed started off as a wonderful beginning to love, became nothing more than a routine.

I wanted the conversations. I wanted to know what you are thinking about.

Did the food taste good? Do you think I looked pretty? Do I look good my hair let loose? I had no answers. I still don't know.

I waited for that one day when you might see what you mean to me. What being in love means. But to you, love was her. Conversation was her. Thoughts were her. 

You had your share of pain too, I know.  She was married to somebody else.  But you loved her too much to let her go. You cared enough about her to lie to me about it. But I didn't need to hear you say it, I know your heart and I know it beats for her. And only her. Behind every single lie you told me, I knew the truth. I still listened, because you were talking to me. Even though it was about her.

Yet, the wait was wonderful.

Was I the fool to believe that someday you would fall in love with me? Was it blind trust that I had in you to not see what my heart already knew?

It’s been so many days now. Do you miss me? I yearn to know.

I don’t wait to hear you say ‘I love you’. I have long given up hope of ever hearing it. But I want to know if you miss me. We had shared so much.  I wait to hear that it meant something to you. That I meant something to you.

And oh, happy anniversary. Our first year together.

I was too blind to see that you were too deaf to hear me.


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