a heartbeat inside my ribcage…

I sat there with a glass in my hand staring at the faces I didn’t know too well, it was a party I went with a friend of a friend. All I wanted was free liquor and maybe someone to take home for the night. Music was good, so was the crowd. I scanned faces but none appealed, not even the most breathtakingly beautiful ones. Something was off, my own self perhaps.

And then she walked right in front of me. Tears dripping slowly, like a painfully beautiful river flowing under the starry night. There was a man, they held hands yet they were fidgeting with unsaid words and said ones all at the same time. I looked, I stared. She stared back. I didn’t flinch, I was held right there by her. Pinned by her gaze. Something she wanted to say, something I wanted to hear. She stood there staring and I sat there shivering.

A sly smile, an excuse, she whispered words and walked away from him towards the corner. Not far but right there in my vision. She wanted me around, I thought, and so I did with my eyes. Sobbing silently she stood with back of her head pecking the wall and I knew I was gone, from her mind and sight. While she battled her demons I fought my urge. Strangeness hovered, my throat dried, ache strangled what I felt for the first time a heart inside me.

Lowering my eyes, I touched my chest. There was something living inside the cage and I felt it like I never did before. Raising my eyes I found hers again, even the curtain of tears did nothing to diminish the magic pull. I followed with steps, slowly but steady. We stood hands apart, nobody was breathing. Cornered and next to the wall, we did nothing but stared right into each other’s eyes.

Beating too hard a noise broke the silence, a heartbeat. Mine or hers, was hard to know from whose inside came the thunderous sound. And then the world drowned; the noise, heartbeat, the ache, the eyes and the face vanished, as she held my face in hers and kissed me consuming all my reclusiveness.

Just like that she walked away, not before she kissed my eyes that I failed to open even when she was gone. Finding my balance against the wall, I smiled and cried all at the same time. I knew we were going to meet again, I knew I was ruined for life, I knew I would go home alone tonight and for every other night until her eyes find mine, again.

So this happened yesterday. The story. Slept too late but was worth it. This song below set the mood for the scene.

Story of a writer who writes stories…

The moment of pride, joy and sorrow for a writer when the story comes to its last line, last word…even if it’s just a file in a folder for many, it’s child to its creater who gave birth to the names, people and protagonists living inside those pages.

After going through ups and downs with those people every day, when rest of the world went to sleep, the writer is now left alone and sad…like the parent whose child has moved out for a job or a best friend who is now in another city…what now?

The joy and the sigh of strange pain…story of a writer who writes stories.

..

image

The invisible hug…

A friend recently asked me why did I choose music symbols as my first Tattoo…because I found it when I was a lost kid and I still have it around now that I’m a messed up grown up…it’s like an invisible hug that calms you down and whispers ‘shh…I’ve got you’…

image