By Mohith S
I was rapidly losing the currents and flashes of a million intents to set the words in motion. I want to save them all at once, from an impending disaster. That bunch of a single moment.
I want to save her.
I want to stop her, freeze her clock, immortalize her, by writing her.
I couldn’t possibly think of any sensible way of doing it from the maximum of my wits and capacity. I can’t promise her anything, absolutely nothing in this horrible world, except that she could attempt to live in the way she wants to live here, with me. I hold her hands, walk, run and jump and run, and sometimes pause in silence, looking back at the path we traversed, like the cursor which I see on my machine every day.
I am in fear. People will erase her just by speaking about her. What would the flickering flames of the candles, the grey clouds outside, and the cold, stormy winds gushing in through the doors and windows of my isolated, dark, somber countryside wooden house without an electric lamp speak of its signs, other than the ominous words of painless, traceless abduction of her will and aspirations, by the people, the demons — to nowhere?
I was alone at my small shabby house which smell of rotting wood, for the last three days, seeking asylum for no real reason. Around noon, when the rains stopped and the sun looked out, he came to my house to get a smoke. He was a type who learns me by my toes. However, he never managed to pull my enigmatic strings of the last three days, at his first sight. I was feeling thirsty. I was feeling weak and sick of thinking about her all day, for the last three days straight.
“Do you love her?”, He asked in a matter-of-fact tone. I blushed red with a quirk of a grin. It was certainly not an appropriate question on a December evening while the temperature has already made you sick.
DO YOU LOVE HER – It caught my attention to examine these words with utmost curiosity.
Do I love her? I asked myself. Silence. Love doesn’t exist in words, the text. However, the body spoke briefly to my mind and heart, I realized.
I haven’t seen her. I haven’t heard her. I never knew what she smells of, on a cozy dinner date. I held her hands for the first time, only here. I mean, HERE. There is no possible way right now to learn her mind than to pretend to have absolutely learned her, all about her.
I didn’t answer him yet. I decided not to. I did not want to do a tiniest attempt to erase her from here, in this absolutely abstract no-time space of mine. He left after a quick chat, and I was back to my sleazy, worldly existence.
Do words alone will save her? I went to my original question.
It has just saved her from me. Just some few moments back. When the silence made me decide not to answer him. But yet, she continues to live in my world, as I look back across here. And she would continue to do so, as long as she doesn’t want me to end this perennial sickness of mine.
Now, succumbing to my pretensions of saving her, I chose to love her. But I already immortalized her, in my wavy string of words passing straight through my pupils to the back of my head, and winding them around my dreams. However, pure love killed my words, once again.
Words are DEAD now.
These are the eternal remnants of her life with me.
She will be spoken of. She will turn into memories and subject-matters of endless conversations, but will not be immortalized.
I failed to save her; from the demons of this universe.
By Mohith S
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