Ten years

I love you and I’m not saying this to blank places or motes suspended in a dark, dusty room. It’s taken me ten years, from first knowing that girl who sat next to me in college after that painful breakup, to ignoring her charm because I remained suspended in some wistful reverie when you were there, staring me in the face, to years of limited contact, foolishly reducing what should have been to a silly maybe, to years of breakdowns and trysts with the patient’s chair – watching you shed tears when I told you of my psychological regress, to relationships that don’t really define the term, to seeking utter solitude and finding a peace long forgotten right where I am – next to you, to balancing on a tightrope of slender progress, scared I’ll be pulled down by some gale of insecurity or frustration. Yes, the past haunts, the future will never be known, but the present liberates, and when I kissed you yesterday, and then we both retreated to someplace primal, like right after the Fall, when Adam knew Eve, and each sigh and whisper tore the four walls which kept me inert, and each vibration and undulation took us someplace else – some beach of eros where the sand trembled with us, and the waves got their rhythm from us, and reaching ecstasy which lies at the peak of affection, I said it then, and will say it again – I fucking love you.

© Nitin Lalit Murali (2018)

Protected by Copyscape

8 responses

  1. A heartbreak and heartache that intense, especially if she’s your very first taste of love, it’ll take, a very long time to get over, but eventually, you will, move on, and she’ll be, nothing MORE than a fond memory of your years past…

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: