The best part of my day is when you lie down beside me. You close your eyes, and drift off to sleep. I look at you, and you’re so tender, and pure. All my upheaval is put to rest, the noises fade away. I look at you and living is the best thing to do.
My dear daughter, you’ve my heart and soul. I love you.
These roses are so perfect. Red as blood, sharp as memories. I can’t help but wonder what is worth the adornment of these lush flowers?
Tell me now, if you could, would you peek inside? Would you like to discover that which they hide? Its like the roses are stuck here forever, bewitched by love and bound by mortality. They have owned the window, claimed it as one of their own. All for that which resides inside.
No. He replied in his resolute tone. Looking in another direction.
Why not? She complained. You’re not even paying attention.
He looked towards the window and replied cautiously, What if we went inside just to peek and the vines never let us out? What if the roses grow around us? We’ll be stuck there forever.
He firmly gripped her hand and they continued walking.
Atleast we’ll know what the roses fell in love with, and never recovered.
Its for our own protection honey. Her mother tried to explain. But she was never really satisfied.
Why do we need fences?
Barbed wires around everything beautiful. Why did God not make fences around His rivers and deserts? Why does sky have no fence? Why do clouds get to breach territories with their rain? How did God miss this important detail?
Honey why don’t you appreciate the pasture? Try not to focus on the fences if they disturb you.
Because the pasture is where it should be. The pasture is at home. But the wires.. they are weeping. They want to be set free. They don’t want to live a life of hostility, but no one’s listening ma.
Every fortnight they met. The moon, the tree, and she. Dressed in moonlight, her gorgeous locks flowing in the air, caressing them, she crossed the dark mystic field without a worry in her eyes. Upon gazing her, the moon and the tree sighed.
Step by step she walked towards her, each step felt like centuries to the tree. Even though she had to wait a fortnight, the longest was after having her in sight.
The moon blinked. He knew how tree felt about her. They often talked about how she baffled their senses. They talked in whispers about their fear of not having to see her after another fortnight. Fear was but their expression of longing, of desire and desperation. They were helpless.
What were they to call it? Love was often taken as mating of bodies. But they were mating dreams. Together was when people were bound to each other, but they were free with each other. So this was neither love, nor togetherness.
What is it then?