Apocryphal Gleanings

 It was nothing less than a veritable storm. Amidst the howling wind and the cold rain, she trudged her way towards the cliff. ‘I’m going for a walk,’ was all she had said. Was what she would say, every single time.

No one in their right minds would choose to do so in such inclement weather. Then again, was she ever one of them?

(Times like these were when she was free to imagine and envisage everything possible about herself, including the very distinct possibility of being mad. You see, a thin line separates an oddball from a lunatic.)

But she plodded on regardless, taking a somewhat masochistic pleasure in the way the rain cut her to the bones and the wind made her shiver all over. The idea of catching a cold (much less pneumonia) was something she refused to entertain.

(Enough with the weather already, anyway)

The cliff looked over an ocean, equally restive. Nonetheless, it broke away from the constricting woods, enough to give one a semblance of a vast space. On a given day, it would be enough to remind her of the immense universe that she could glimpse through the distant horizon.

Today, even the roaring waves seemed to make her feel claustrophobic.

She walked over to the very edge, barely ensconced by the low fence, broken in various places. It was her wont to do, as perilous as it was – to stand at the edge and peer down at the sea crashing against the jagged rocks. One would think she was about to take her life…and sure enough, that would be the very thought running through her head as she would stand there. However, each time, she came back alive.

The point of this otherwise futile exercise being - to reaffirm to herself that her life was in her hands…quite literally, as long as she stood over the edge. That she was free to jump and put an abrupt end to her existence (quite meaningless in her eyes, either way) but she consciously chose to not do so.

That she further chose to get back to living, for as long as she was meant to be.

The thought both sobered and enlivened her. This little ritual, while not doing much to calm her demons, certainly reminded her of her inability to hurt herself to such an extent. That she would snatch back her power from others to whom she had unknowingly surrendered the same, from time to time, only to be affronted by her destiny.

Only to be reminded of how her own creation overpowered her. And so it was – the unceasing struggle, which she would try to defer and avoid, but never quite coming close to ending it altogether.

For, perhaps, that was the only meaning worth being pursued. 

Forever Repining

I wish I could tell you…everything. Open up as you asked me to. Be the person you saw and appreciated me for.

But what do I even say?

Perhaps this and this alone… I’m not whom you’re looking for.

I have walked into a conflict of my own volition – and you stand there, waiting for my answer, believing in your convictions to persuade me to see the light, to take the step.

“But I don’t know you

…and I wish I did.”

Strike a chord within my heart. Don’t leave me cold. Make me care. Make me love you.

I’m tired of relating to people out of a sense of duty or obligation. Make me want to seek you out, for no other reason than to be with you. Make me crave your presence, feel alive in your company.

Make me leave the realm of my mind and feel what I’d been so good at imagining so far. Make me see myself for who I am.

But that’s too much to ask, isn’t it?

So leave me to pick up the pieces of my unrealized dreams, weave them into a veil, and lie beneath it, forgotten to the world.

No trail shall be left and yet there will always be signs that would lead you to me. Make me wish, fervently, that you will heed them and come for me.

You will bring me back, won’t you?

I would tear down the walls, but I won’t. I can’t.

The quiet darkness, the sedate comfort of a narrow sphere, painstakingly built with everything I knew of with certainty.

There isn’t much to go on with, in there. Make me yearn for more, to live in the thrill than in that deadening refuge.

…

“But you saw me for who I really was…or did you?”

“I see you for who you are. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“…and you should know, that adds all the value you could possibly want.”

“But I didn’t want any.”

They met. By the riverside, with the day dying upon them and the cool breath of night starting to blow. Water always calmed her, she said, but nothing compared to the ocean and its freeing effect. But this would have to do, she mused. For all the things that we could have done together, it will have to do.

And you think I didn’t want the same, he thought, looking at her quietly as she gazed back at him in equal solemnity.

She looked away, almost smiling to herself, “We both did.”

“Yes. But you wouldn’t let me.”

She turned to face him again, leaning in to wrap her arms around his neck. “Because if I did, it’s still not what either of us is looking for.”

“And I’d kiss you, like before, but it would…”

“Be my guest.”

He settled for cupping her face, drawing her closer. “It won’t be enough of a claim, will it now?

She smiled rakishly. “Not in a million years.”

And yet she stood before him, willingly in his hold, endless thoughts skimming before her closed eyes as she waited for one to strike her mind, pierce her heart…perhaps, perhaps succinctly pinpoint the myriad of feelings he managed to evoke in her. Then again, it wasn’t him per se – it was the idea he represented, the idea she had chased blindly for as long as she could remember.

Isn’t it said, one falls more in love with the idea of falling in love rather than with someone?

She looked at him again, taking in his presence, drawing comfort from the familiarity of his being…and yet, perhaps it does takes more than mere affection to set a heart racing. She wondered what it was and whether she would ever find it.

A Vexing Predicament

I have had enough.

I can’t do this anymore. I can’t think, I can’t write. I dread every day…

…of seeing you before me and being unable to do anything about it. Of knowing the effect that we have on each other, marking the air between us with palpable uncertainty.

And I brought it upon us. I refuted your affections. I doubted your sincerity. I couldn’t stand the idea of being claimed.

But you and I, we both can’t do without each other, can we? Or was it my wishful thinking all along?

You, who prevails upon my mind like a bittersweet memory, forever haunting my waking moments; you, whose image unfailingly manifests in my troubled dreams; you, who I held onto for hope, for kindness and love…you became my own creation even before I got to know you.

And to see you in person is to bring all those visions crashing down, rendering me dismayed and wondering how easily I could get carried away.

It was never about you. It was always me, my convoluted thinking, my need for dependence that you came to fulfill, my unwillingness to accept you for who you are, my indifference to your struggle to bridge the gap between us that I only chose to emphasize more and more as we grew closer.

I wish I could be more forthcoming, but I can’t. For your sake, I won’t.

Nonetheless, you meant something to me…still do, always will and I wasn’t walking away.

Is this the way it ends? Are you content to leave this behind simply because it did not culminate the way you intended it to be?

To think we got this far, to think we rushed into taking a call; I am but bound by the stand I took.

And in the throes of a dying attachment, all I can say is: don’t leave me. Come back.

For I would walk towards you if I could but I can only meet you halfway. And so it is.

A Callous Estrangement

“There is only one thing I ask of you. Trust me. Even if you acquiesce to nothing else…even though I know I can never change your mind.”

“Why else am I here?”

“…for I know, I can trust you to take care of me, to not hurt me intentionally…to always tell me exactly what I need to hear.”

…

It might be an illusion, for all I know.

My apathy runs deep.  You see, it was never a question of trust.

For trust I can and I will, always. It is so easy to confide in someone, to give them your undivided time, to do things for them.

Perhaps knowing that you choose to do so willingly regardless of how your actions are perceived and the intentions they serve, is what makes the difference.

So think me to be a fool, or see me as a means to your end. It doesn’t matter.

Turn around and shatter the dream, but my heart won’t be broken anymore.

For I will pull away if you gnaw at my essence. I will walk away if you try to tie me down.  

You see, I choose to blind myself, but I can always see.

So pull the blindfold off, show me your true colours, thinking me to be hopelessly ensnared.

Except, those traps are as frail and brittle as your momentary promises.

And so I continue to liaise, walking into this beautiful, delusional world of my own volition, to revel in those fleeting pleasures that your companionship offers, while returning the favour in kind…

But I’m not yours to claim, nor are you mine. And so be it.

…

“Such paranoid caution…it could be the death of you.”

“Ah, it is but an overwhelming instinct of self-preservation. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“How long can you keep this up? No one can fight alone.”

“No one is indispensable either.”

Clash, Joust, Duel

And I sink to my knees, head lowered, hands clutching at the earth beneath in despair…my entire frame shaking with antipathy.

Revulsion ripples through every fibre of my being. I look at you with unmasked hostility as you walk towards me.

Head held high, hands jammed into pockets, a natural look of indifference intermittently crossed with pity on those loathsome, perfect features…you regard me coolly, a silent reproach in your gaze at my helpless state.

But the steel lies sharply against my palm.

And you tap your foot almost impatiently, awaiting my response.

In that moment, the wind dropped, time stood still…everything froze.

Except for the blade carving your being, in an explosion of vermillion.

…

“Kill me, why don’t you?”

She mutters to herself more than to him, as she leans against the window-sill, conveniently turned away from him

“…I will do no such thing,” he responds, perfectly nonchalant.

She grimaces, her fingers instinctively reaching towards her left shoulder, wrapped in gauze. She glances back to notice the light bandage spread across his forearm. He catches her gaze, calmly returning the look.

She grows even more infuriated.

“Calm down. You won’t get your way if you lose track so easily.”

“Darn right. You wait.”

“Empty, meaningless threats.”

“Cocky much?”

“I’d rather die than give in to you.”

“That’s it!”

And the sabre is pulled from her hands before she can strike, her hands caught behind her in a single grasp and he leans in to whisper, “Swordplay is like conversation, they say. You must learn to listen to your opponent.”

She drops to her knees and he stands before her, like the previous time.

Tower over me, your brilliance looming over my zeal like a dark shadow. And I shall always be but a mere silhouette, my sword not an expression of my spirit but an instrument of my regret.

Forever, forever burning in the inferno of my ardour…

He touches her shoulder with the sabre and she looks up, “Keep the fire alive but don’t let it consume you.”

…and so you dance and play to the same impatient rhythm, revelling in that violent upsurge of emotion before it gives way to complete stillness.

Acquiescence

“Why are we here?”

He looked up from his work, startled at the sudden question. She did not face him but continued to gaze past the window – possibly at the clouds, if he knew any better – arms crossed, her expression impassive if not slightly wistful. Unable to discern the context of her words, he simply asked, “Elaborate, if you can?”

“I won’t. The question is self-explanatory. Oh and if you can answer this as well – who exactly are you?”

The words escaped him even before he could get up to face her (and perhaps check for fever first, before trying to knock sense in her). “What is wrong with you today?”

“Answer me!”

“But in what context?”

“You know which.”

“I do not. Unless you seem to have to forgotten how you willingly chose to kill time while I finished my assignments – there, the answer to your first question.”

“Incorrect. Also, I still don’t know who you are.”

“Oh, for the love of God! How can you not recognize me?”

“I don’t recognize myself.”

“Shall I bring a mirror?”

“Irrelevant.”

 “How about a blow to your head?”

“How about I offer you a knife instead?”

He finally walked up to her, stopping by the other end of the window, keeping the little distance to avoid overwhelming her. She held his gaze coldly, standing as if in defiance of everything around her. He couldn't help but chuckle. “Does it matter?”

“Unless it matters to you, no.”

“Why?”

“If you’re asking that, then it does matter to you.”

He looked away, glancing at the view before them; a moment of quiet reflection spent in taking in nothing more than myriad hues of white that played across a canvas of infinite blue, before turning to look at her, a slight smile as the only affirmation of their mutual understanding, to be met by a solemn nod in return.

“Let’s not state the obvious, shall we?”

The Last Laugh

That feeling, when you look back and realise just how many things (and even people) you have left behind.

Nothing, and no one, is ever indispensable, is it?

However, thrown in the eye of a raging storm, grappling for anchors that are yet unreliable, you hanker for the lost times, the transient comfort that sheltered life offered you – friends, confidantes…all yet to step beyond that point of no return, prepared to shake off those shackles that bound them to their volatile, vulnerable selves.

Not knowing that those sides will raise their ugly heads at the most inopportune of moments.

And you choose to blind yourself – hide behind the countless avenues of escape, driven to the point of maddening laughter, masking the involuntary cries of desolation as you get buried beneath a convenient façade, refusing to slip away even within the confines of your solitude. Those mindless pursuits, those numbing recreations – you give in to them, as does everyone else, each present moment postponed to another time.

You envisage a future unencumbered by narrow beliefs and constricting relations. A life carved on your terms and your terms alone. And yet the enormity of achieving that vision overwhelms you to submission.

It’s the same story day in and day out. You know the way, but it takes all of your courage to maintain the status quo, let alone break it and bear its ramifications.

And yet, things will change. People will come, people will go. You are left stranded in the middle of it all, watching it happen, living as if suspended from motion, dimly aware of how everything else moves ahead, except you.

So you retreat to your high-held composure; that infallible assurance that you were meant for things beyond the band-wagon and for you, time and space does not exist. That spiritualistic viewpoint, killing the tearing hurry of all human endeavours, the lowly outlooks of achievement and possession…reinforces your disillusionment in this worldly life and you give up even more.

You had two paths laid out before you and you can’t choose either. And yet, you have walked on both.

Would you ever be able to blaze your own trail?

Or will you run ahead, regardless of the path, only to be forced to look back?

Perhaps, you will have the last laugh anyhow – either at your own incompetence or your steadfast zeal to break all conventions. And then, nothing would matter.