To C,

On the bed, I lie.

It is evening as I write. The rain has conquered the heat, but still hesitant as ever. Oblivious to the romantics waiting for it to pour itself to their fragile bodies—to make a fairy tale scene. 

The world may be moving slower or faster depending on how you feel, but when asked me to reconsider, you must know that I did. 

If I see your reflection walking away from me, I would not cry. Equally, if I see your reflection crying in pain, I would not show a hint of remorse. I refuse to make any action based on what I perceive; Instead, I will wait for you to comment. Things are not always what they seem.

It does not matter if your words can turn blue litmus paper into red—know that I will still listen. By now, you must know that you have not only wrapped me around your little finger—I am clinging to it, fighting gravity so as not to fall. I am hanging on to your every word.

If you go back to the start, you would notice that I never intended to be truthful, nor did I ever intend to lie—merely evasive of speaking what can be shown.

So do not blame the butterflies, or the squirrels for what you are feeling. Instead, call the elephants and focus on the slow steps they make as they move around the world. Their body mass does not matter; what matters is their unwavering patience—so constant that it can be measured with a pendulum.

A day crawls unnoticed but again, it does not matter. In Gestalt they say that the whole is not equal to the sum of its parts, so I say nothing has changed. 

I have no need for amplification because what I offer is in its rawest state. And I wait for you to grill me with questions as you wait for me to acknowledge your presence.

There is no need for me to explain the implications of every action. Whether I remain still or I fly and crash like a winged creature, I will always come back to you. You know how well-accustomed we have become of these encounters.

So, cheers for three years. Cheers for three years. 

Cheers for three years.

I once posted this piece, only to delete it after a while. I think I’m ready now.