The Last Dialogue

September 1992:

She was wearing pink that day and weather was extremely hazy. Mist turned into sweat, and sweat that unusually took passage through the palm, hanging through the forehead and feet rocking on a very exciting beat. 

My start system was extremely excited and as I passed through the conventional places, something mitigating in the air, thinking about all the clauses for a perfect balanced equation. What to say, what not to say, I want no jitters, have to control this smile and the line I see exactly from this length should be the culmination point .After that I have to act reasonable, calm and composed.

So same thing happened exactly in the opposite direction: I rushed towards her, even took jumps and kick pebbles over the road, untainted smile, I could even feel my jaw bone stretched to the limits and I absolutely forgot what to say as she came into the scene with the most auspicious smile, walking as if each small distance is accurately measured, a bit shyness and.. And a mild thundering, nature’s conspiracy to make her feel confident.

July 1998:

Today is a similar day, winds are gushing, corroding the very taste of sweetness I ever had, itching, passing almost lifeless hand through the hair, just to feel body and body with a soul. I am not really sure if soul is here, she took it years back while then I assumed she took over it. 

Ahhh… my feet are numb as if, I was the one left over soldier in the aggressively covered White Mountains and my body negates every proportion of myself proceeding forward.

Going back is my choice but moving ahead is my dire need. She appeared again from the crowd in dejection, possibly mere abhor she holds against the world.  She will take ages to understand and minutes to fume up with the upshot. But distance has to be covered one way or the other. 

We were here standing at an ounce distance. Before I ever got a chance to greet her, my world was in rains and her face appeared foggy, I took a minute to understand the happening s of the moment.

Before we started our last dialogue, I was wondering the truth she had in her imagination:

“This my dear! Will never come again. The faces, the expressions, this shine in my cloth, assuredness in you, assuages of everything in nature, won’t come ever again. We may have good or bad or even ugly ones but this won’t come again”

You were right … you were right to the core but before you leave I wish you put a balm on the ridden heart or crash my memory right side, left side, every side .I won’t you to be remembered by the first day only. 

But I saw my eyes drooping down and her image was in vague. She had locks, curled up over the face and as I wanted to see if they hold grace to give life back to my lifeless hand, she beckoned me to be seated. 

I sat as if assembling every part within each other, she was quiet .Her quietness kills me and her face was slightly swollen as well. And weird cuts on the hand as if she has been cutting every unused memory from the broken farmyard.  She had dust over the shoulders and nearby.

Where she left her neatness?

But this is not the time to think about other details; we need to see each other by face so we jumbled up with the sights of each other. My sight was static, hers was dynamic probably because she is weak and shyness her essence that kept me closer for all those years.

This was our last dialogue; we said nothing, we saw nothing as we surrendered everything already. All we saw were moments compressed within hands lock .This was our last attempt to hold it, last desire to save it.

This was the most organic, most profound, betrothal our last dialogue.

As i wrote this fiction, i wanted it to have sad endings but this music kept my pen rolling in the other direction: 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_KSMG8mCzN8 

This post is dedicated to happily married couples, hurdles are the only trick to keep you two closer. 
Wish you all a lovely life.