Sepia

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That’s the thing about old friends. Instinct becomes your first and only language when emotions stay shrouded behind cooled gestures.

There are layers anew to peel off, bespoke of tense energy. But unexpectedly, a collision opens a floodgate of unspoken sentiments that simmer for an instant. Time goes back and in your heart you know that there can never be a second round. But you imagine a once over, desperate to pick out an alternative where barriers don’t need to be broken down, where your laugh is louder than the wind and the music isn’t a sanctum of restrained emotion.

But time doesn’t stop and the last vestiges of the sparks remain in the pointed scrawls lurking in the latent mind and the splinters of memories tinged with sepia.

Off the Pedestal

For the longest time, I held unwavering perceptions of people. They were bound within the confines of the labels anointed – Mom, Dad, Teacher, Elder Sister, or just plain “Adult”. In my head, the parents could do no wrong; they were secure and unblemished on their pedestal where I had placed them. Similar expectations were laid on the other adults in my life. The formula was simple: Adults have the answers. Adults are the solutions.

The term human never really applied to them, until it applied to me. Until there was a world beyond black and white. Until there was a tricky middle ground of subjectivity at the edge of which I was precariously balanced. That is when I started to extend the liberty of making mistakes to myself and my peers. After all, it is probably the most natural thing in the world.

And finally, came a day when I extended the same courtesy to my parents (and the other adults, but obviously the key are my parents). I took them off the pedestal and gave them the freedom to be, and in the process took a weight off my shoulders of trying to view the world as per the lenses I believed I was expected to see.

In that moment, I looked at the person beyond the label and tried to catch a glimpse of their journey and their pains, of their unfulfilled dreams and their doubts. It taught me to forgive, for all the times I felt they should have done something different with me. It also taught me the meaning of unconditional love, of taking in the load of good along with the pinch of “bad”.

The view up from the ground was assuring to say the least, but now at eye level where I have allowed blemishes to touch them, the perspective is now pure and beautiful and familiar.

Prelude

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That’s when the heartbeats race

That’s when a blush warms your cheeks

That’s when shivers flow down your back

That’s when your fingers tremble

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You swallow and swallow hard

You close your eyes

Your heart comes to a standstill

Your soul sings a song to music unwritten

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It’s the anticipation

It’s the breaths that you share

It’s the gentle fluttering of your eyes

It’s the best part of your first kiss

 

Evanescent #writephoto

That luminous night

As we lay under the starlight

Taking in the moon rising from beyond 

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Fingers almost touching

Eyes almost meeting

Heartbeats almost slowing

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It wasn’t love

It surely wasn’t a promise

Only a hint of a what-if.

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Yet the present was ours

The world infinite in the grasp of our gravity

At the center of the universe were we


Some almosts are beautiful 🙂 Written for Sue Vincent’s photo prompt “Luna”

Undiluted

Don’t give me your grays…

I crave for scarlet and violet and mauve and navy. My eyes are roving for deep splashes and resolute textures. It’s a call for an explosion of the light shattering upon the dark, to understand the colors all over again.

Don’t give me your doubts…

I want emotions – raw and expelling with intensity. I want to love fiercely and unconditionally, burn a green fire of jealousy, sink into purified hatred, burst like a bomb with euphoria. To covet the lucidity as clear as the glow of a blazing candle!

Don’t give me your prejudices…

I desire absolute persistence and coherence of conceptions. To strike the bull eye’s because there is no other possibility! And smash the plank into clean halves with a singular stroke because there is no room for the waste of idiosyncrasies.

Don’t give me your incompleteness…

I want you … one and whole. I want you selfishly without any compromise. Comprehensively to the last speck of your heart and soul. Down to the synchronized pulse of our thoughts and desires.

Unqualified. Undiluted. Untainted.