She keeps it all stacked together. His words and memories and every beat that she missed while being around him. It's her box of guilty pleasures. And she revels in them so often. Sometimes by choice, but most times a wave comes and drowns her into the sea. He is the anchor that holds her down and keeps her there. And she can hold her breath as long as she knows he will be around. She has known love and she knows it doesn't hold u down. She knows how much of a junkie she has become while satiating her desperate need of him. He is her addiction; though she knows there's rehab; and she is on her way to find it.
She laughs at herself a lot these days. Doing what she did. Fighting. Struggling. To surpass his standards, to receive his 100% approval, to impress, to gain attention. Her efforts were like that of a butterfly trying to please a flower, while everyone else in the periphery was in awe with the butterfly. And so was the flower. But the flower was just too colorful to clearly express it. It was all so beautiful once, back then. Starry quite nights on the rooftop on drizzly nights. Electric currents fusing through warm bodies. Never ending stories and cosy comfortable silences. He knew every expression of her too well. he could almost read her heart written all over her face. In just a glance. And he was one of the very few who could. And may be the only one who cared enough to do. And showered her in soft caresses in return. He knew she was an open book. And he knew she meant everything she said. He even knew she meant it, clear and direct, when she asked to be left alone.
She sat on those stone steps with everything scattered around her. All the memories strewn across the surface going down hill. And she realized. It's not him. It's not him at all. It's the memories. Those beautiful pictures painted in her head. Only memories. Mere memories in all their grandeur. The movie that keeps on replaying at the back of her head. Only because she knows the movie has stopped progressing abruptly. And it wont anymore in a positive direction. Hung in mid air. Only because it hurts looking him right in the eye and fighting the urge to run to him and be enveloped in the security of his arms, resting assured to be not judged or or looked upon with wrath. But everything ends, all movies do. Some movies have weird endings and so do some lives. She knows the onset of memories will ebb some day and gradually vanish. And eventually there will be someone with stronger arms, who would read her face better.
She laughs at herself a lot these days. Doing what she did. Fighting. Struggling. To surpass his standards, to receive his 100% approval, to impress, to gain attention. Her efforts were like that of a butterfly trying to please a flower, while everyone else in the periphery was in awe with the butterfly. And so was the flower. But the flower was just too colorful to clearly express it. It was all so beautiful once, back then. Starry quite nights on the rooftop on drizzly nights. Electric currents fusing through warm bodies. Never ending stories and cosy comfortable silences. He knew every expression of her too well. he could almost read her heart written all over her face. In just a glance. And he was one of the very few who could. And may be the only one who cared enough to do. And showered her in soft caresses in return. He knew she was an open book. And he knew she meant everything she said. He even knew she meant it, clear and direct, when she asked to be left alone.
She sat on those stone steps with everything scattered around her. All the memories strewn across the surface going down hill. And she realized. It's not him. It's not him at all. It's the memories. Those beautiful pictures painted in her head. Only memories. Mere memories in all their grandeur. The movie that keeps on replaying at the back of her head. Only because she knows the movie has stopped progressing abruptly. And it wont anymore in a positive direction. Hung in mid air. Only because it hurts looking him right in the eye and fighting the urge to run to him and be enveloped in the security of his arms, resting assured to be not judged or or looked upon with wrath. But everything ends, all movies do. Some movies have weird endings and so do some lives. She knows the onset of memories will ebb some day and gradually vanish. And eventually there will be someone with stronger arms, who would read her face better.
- ThatGirl.Again
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