Small Things

Yesterday was a good day. I met someone I used to know and was pleasantly surprised to see that he had changed. Gone was the swagger and the weird lilts in the voice. It had all been beautifully replaced with calm, courteous charm. Except the eyes. They still danced.
It was as if nothing had changed. He asked me if I still had a flaming temper and I retorted by asking him about his pathetic taste in women. He grabbed me into this gruff hug and nearly lifted me clean off the ground. As I stood back shyly he grinned and said " still doing your whole reserved deal huh?"
"no I'm not!" I scowled back.

As I looked at him, I picked out the familiar mixed with the new. He wore a scent I didn't recognise but his smell was still the same. He always ended up laughing at his own jokes before he even finished telling them and I loved that he wore a shirt with a collar. He still hadn't grown up though. As I talked with lots of hand gestures and lots of big words thrown in for good effect, he smiled at me the old way, tilted his head to one side and declared: "your teeth are still crooked!!".
It was the first time I'd laughed in days. And once I started I couldn't stop and then burst into tears (I was probably hungry and sleepy and everything else combined). He somehow managed to laugh at that too and I sat there and sulked.

When I got up to leave, he held out a pencil. A brand new beautiful pencil with an eraser on top. I smiled. I love stationary. And I loved that he had remembered. It was so simple. Small things.. that's all it takes.. small things.

Worth Preserving

I want that moment to exist behind a closed door somewhere and know that I can walk in anytime I need to and anytime I want. With food in the centre and boys on the phone and little babies who turn over and demand to be burped. Where we tell tales over and over again just to have that one last laugh or simply to forget the story. Where certain others lament the lack of maal or the fact that we can't afford it coz people owe us money...In that room we are the three most beautiful people I have come across. I'm thinking it as I take my monkey arms and start measuring them against the milky softness of the baby's. I'm thinking it when I look at beautiful big eyes that somehow look childish all the time and I'm thinking it when I sit, legs stretched out under the table and declare I'm hot simply to hear no one rebuff it.

The boy does a brilliant imitation and I laugh until I there are tears because that image of me is so atrocious that I actually know what he's talking about. Sigh. In that room is where it all falls away and I come to sickening realisations for which the food is in no way responsible. Then the baby becomes the mother with hand motions that remind one of a lotus blossom and it's all warm and fuzzy and sleepy. It's nice. Worth preserving.

Winter Favourites!

1. Wet tangled hair at the nape of my neck and a steamy bathroom.

2. Endless cups of foaming coffee.

3. Wearing three layers and still feeling exquisite shivers of cold.

4. Pretty blankets

5. Sunlight

6. Johnson and Johnson's baby cream! Lots of it!

7. All alone on the 7th floor with fog outside which makes it feel like I'm living on a cloud.

8. Mufflers!

9. Cold hands all the time! And a cold pink nose too!

10. My Papa's sweater which smells of smoke and boss...

Cover

Water bubbles in the air and dim lights. There's me and someone else. Time flies for it is prudent. Stagnant would be two if I had my way. There is music and it grows louder slowly because it knows I am Scared. I decide to dance and the lights get dimmer until I know it's alright to kick off my shoes. I begin to twirl. Barefoot.

The Dream

Once upon a time, when the sky was still azure and not grey and red was simply a colour used to describe poppies, there lived a man on the edge of the world.

He was speaking to me. He told me things that were obvious but had never occurred to me before. He said that my happiness could not be created by someone else. I could be the only one to create it and destroy it. He held a secret in the palm of his hand. As I stared into his eyes, they crinkled into one of those comfortable smiles that I had begun to love. The promise was secured by my putting my hand into his and choosing to walk those miles that had been the distance between us. Now they were simple roads of companionship. It was beautiful. It was a dream. I wanted to wake up and smell the fresh air but not the reality. He told me that I needed to stop looking for approval from others for the means I used to attain my happiness.

I told him I wanted to fly. He asked me if I had tried. I said the ground held me back. He said I was scared of the skies. I took off, circled once and tumbled into his arms. He laughed and held me tight. I was restless, too restless. One's own restlessness becomes too much sometimes. It's almost like a heavy object that one is constantly carrying, but not holding. You can pour it back and forth in some place in your soul. Solitude sometimes, is the only reason a mind gets chances to reflect. I wondered if babies cared. Then I was running. I broke free of his embrace and sprinted towards the sea. I took off right before the waves could get a chance to lap at my feet. I soared out over the blue. He had said I could create happiness. I wanted to do it for him. I wanted to do it for me. I didn't want it for us. So I set out on a fruitless search of happiness for him, which only I could create.

Now, the skies are grey. My wings are covered with tar and red is the colour of blood.