Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Strangers

She woke up to the sound of early morning birds. Her thick dark lashes, sticky from the mascara she had used last night, seemed reluctant to go off each other. Her cheeks lifted in a slight smile. Her smile said she was happy. For the moment at least. She stretched her small body to work off the last vestiges sleep. Her hand touched smooth skin. Still smiling she sat up in bed, dragging the sheet along with her. It crumpled at her waist and exposed his delicious back to her.

In the soft glow of the golden dust, his back looked a rich bronze. Muscles rippled beneath his leathery skin as he tucked his hands under his head and settled into a deeper sleep. She could not stop herself from touching that tempting back just once more. His skin was warm. Inviting.

Like him.

“You look lonely tonight,” he had said. And she had been. It had been a big mistake to come to party. It still hurt to see her ex with another woman. Any other woman. She had thought she was over him. But the loud night with its even louder music was teaching her otherwise. He on the other hand had no issues grinding his hips with the other girls at the club. It sickened her. She sought refuge at the bar. She had never been a heavy drinker and she was not about to start now. But she was definitely tempted to test the theory of alcohol being able to drown all else.

And that’s where he had found her. She watched as he leaned an elbow on the bar table and settled his glass more firmly between his long fingers. He had a gorgeous smile. A perfect line of lips encircling perfect white teeth. His right cheek caved into a dimple making him look innocent and sensuous at the same time. Was he really talking to her? Her ex had made it clear that no man with all his parts intact was likely to find her attractive at first sight. And given the way this man looked, he would have better luck than her ex in finding hot women to take home.

“I think you could use some company,” he said when she hadn’t spoken. She frowned at him. “What are you drinking?” He pointed with his eyes to her now empty glass.

“Martini,” she replied automatically. He raised his eyebrows in either wonder or appreciation, she would never know. He signaled the bartender to refill her glass and settled himself on the bar stool next to her.

She had no idea why she was letting this absolutely handsome stranger buy her a drink. Some tiny part of her wished her ex was watching every bit of this. She wanted him to feel like he was missing out on something big by leaving her behind. She felt like she had lost something big when he had walked out on her without a second glance. She shook her head to clear her thoughts of him.

“Want to talk about what’s bothering you?” he asked helpfully. He had a voice like rich dark chocolate. It warmed you from the inside.

“Spare me the psychobabble,” she replied rudely, annoyed at herself for being lustily attracted to this complete stranger.

“Sorry?”

“All that bull crap about how talking to a stranger is easier because he is a stranger kind of crap,” she explained lamely. He laughed. A rich sound which left a tingling sensation right down to her toes.

“I have a better theory,” he said looking straight into her eyes.

“Really?” She challenged.

“Sex with a stranger!”

It was her turn to laugh. He shrugged his shoulder and took a sip of whatever he was drinking. “Think about it.” He was not looking at her but looking somewhere straight ahead. “There are so many times when words are not enough to express exactly what you feel. Love. Hate. Anger. Frustration. Sorrow. Whatever. There is no exact way in which to say it. So many times when you find the right stranger to shoulder you feelings, but you don’t know how or what to say.” He looked at her, “I say you don’t need words. You don’t need any superficially clamor of meaningless alphabets when you can show what you feel. When in the silence of words, heartbeats talk and breaths mingle to understand, to comfort. It’s magical!”

She stared at him. Entranced. Enchanted. He was insane. Every word of what he had said was sheer insanity. Yet it made sense to her. She could not take her eyes off him and he never looked away from her.

That was last night. This was now. It was morning. The spell was broken. It was time to move on. Reluctantly she pulled her hand away from his back. She stepped noiselessly off the bed and gathered her clothes. He had not promised her anything more than one night. One night of passion. One night of confession. One night where she had bared her soul to him. All the hurt, all the agony, all the anger there for him to see, to soothe as she submitted her nakedness to him. He had been tender. He had cared. He had heard her silence and he had kissed every last bit of sadness out of her.

One night which was everything she had ever dreamed a night could be.

She pulled her dress over head and slipped into her heels. A tiny tear slipped down the same cheek which had minutes ago been smiling. After baring herself to him how could she ever treat him like a stranger?



Monday, January 3, 2011

Winter memories

It was the perfect winter morning.

Silver mists flirted with a crimson sun. A purple tinge searing the white skies was a testimony to the fun they were having. Orange leaves rustled their goodbyes. Lifelessly they flitted to the foot of the tree. They crunched, and the tree winced invisibly. Silently watching as the leaf, which was once the reason for his very existence was ground into dust under the unknowing heel.

She could hear the crunch, and she could feel the pain. Yet, she could not stop herself from putting one foot before the other. Crunching, crushing, realizing. If only she could do that with memories too. Memories, which were faded and worn. If only she could grind them to dust as easily as the autumn leaves.

Memories which shackled her happiness. Like the green heavy moss on the barks of ancient oaks, they refused to let go. And she stood there, just as mute and just as heavy, letting the past creep on her. She was addicted to her past. A past which had almost killed her.

Crunch!

Another leaf ground to the dust.

Another moment gone. Another past created. Another memory born.

Are memories immortal?

Do they ever die?

Crunch!

More dust.

Her breath danced on clouds of vapor, as she continued walking. The warmth of life mixing with the cold of death creating a new moment… which vanished. She had to stop killing the future before it s time. She had to let hope reside. To live in the past, would mean to die. For one cannot survive in the cycle of that which has already happened.

So why did she keep returning to that moment of decision? To that fork where you could choose to live or choose to exist?

Her heel clicked against the cobblestone. She breathed a sigh of relief. The crunching leaves were beginning to torment her. This was a new path. Shining, gleaming, black. The winds warned her before they blew the mists away. Naked sunlight streaked through the clear skies and sizzled on her scars.

Another reminder that this was her second chance.

She ran a finger along her cheek, tracing the scar that ran along it. Twenty years had done naught to erase it. Nor had they managed to ease the pain of the memory of its birth. The scar had taken her parents away. The scar had left her alive.

Was the scar good or bad?

On the horizon she could see the fog kicking up again. A hazy line which blurred the golden edge of earth’s stolen kiss. An intruder. Unwelcome.

Her head dropped and she sighed. The swirls of her breath danced around her pink, glistening lips. An image flashed through her mind. Blood, hair, rugs and piece of glass sticking out of her cheek. The sun glinted off the glass and scattered a million colors on her bleeding cheek.

She shook her head to clear the memory.

Crunch!

She was back under the tree again.