It is 27 minutes past one in the morning. The streets are deserted, straws of paper strewn all over the streets; evidences of the bustle and hustle just hours before. The night is chilly, shivering drizzles, the cold is biting my bare skin. No one can be spotted anywhere except the lurking figures in the pitch darkness. The street lighting is struggling with the loneliness too as the bulb flickers on and off so very often. Every step I take is a step nearer to a mugger or a blood thirst life snatcher on the loose.
The clouds are thick; the wind is controlled but so strong that it’s making me shiver. It is going to rain soon. Pools of water from the rain that fell the previous day have formed bored patches on the side-streets and once in a while I find myself bumping into some. The earth is definitely desperate of more of the titbits and showers, this being evident by some bare, dry earth that discolor some blotches of the road.
I don’t have much on me; just my enthusiasm, my courage and a hopeful conscience. I can’t exactly tell how I got here but I am all the same. Maybe the mattress isn’t as comfortable it used to be. The blankets aren’t warm enough; the house is just too hollow for my wishes, dreams and desires. Maybe the loner personality that has always existed in my subconscious is just letting loose; manifesting itself in the best way it knows how – through controlling the cognitive aspect of my brain.
My mind is in a swirl. Too many thoughts, too little understanding. I want to make sense of the racing images… I want to make sense of the smile radiating right across my table. I want to see beyond the soft lips, the sharp mind and the strong wit. I want to feel beyond the softness of her fingers or the radiance of her laughter.
There’s an ache somewhere that’s making me numb. It has taken away the sleep; waking me in a drench of sweats wishing and dreaming… Cursing and hoping; believing but holding back. The ache is characterized by unending desire to see beyond what’s laid bare, to believe beyond that which the mind can fathom and to see beyond the scope of my eyes… I want to listen to the unspoken, read the unwritten, see beyond my blindness and feel the unguaranteed.
There’s an unquenchable yearning to hold the chilling cold in my palms and thrush it beyond the cliffs of life. I want to take away the uncertainty and replace it with the brightness that comes at dawn or the darkness that follows the onset of dusk.
I am so enslaved by my thinking that I don’t see her approach. I just feel her breath after bumping into her. I guess she was also in too deep in her imperfect world. I hold her chin up; I expect to see the warmth that characterizes the female character but there’s just but cold eyes devoid of the least fraction of warmth that form the basis of human existence. A perfect face and body, beautiful eyes (cold) I might add….
She looks so familiar. Have we met before? I find myself asking my overworked mind. The way she holds back her head… The way her thick braids are set; the way she has done her nails; Her skin color isn’t light, chocolate or dark. It’s an assortment of the three, class and boldness.
Being in the streets this late, I expect we are birds of a feather. Some dripping in my shoes break me from my reverie. That’s when I feel the blade being twisted and turned just below my left ribcase. The pain is numbing but pleasurable. The dripping is now a steady flow of the red substance… Instead of wincing in pain, I find myself smiling… It is 01:31 AM.