Have I told you that you’re my lucidity, the clearest thought that settles somewhere in the back of a shadowed mind, and slowly, gently, inch by inch lights it up, until I’m smiling again though my eyes are bloodshot and I’m staring like someone catatonic, looking through the phases of my life and time? You may not notice the smile, but it’s there, and the clarity your love gives me, even if it’s for a few moments is like a beautiful minimalistic piano piece by Einaudi or Allevi. It’s serene and absorbs me with a faint glow that slowly rises like a crescendo, building up, very steadily and subconsciously, and it’s more than a jaded heart can hope for. I’ve walked the dark alleyways of littered purgatory, hoping for a cleansing from madness that possesses, but I only lose my way, and I’m trapped in a vicious circle, walking the same places over and again, the downpour chastising me, but then with soaked clothes, I remember that’s there more than a frightening, agonizing status quo. I remember you, and your grace and steel-blue strength: a tranquil yet sturdy resolve, your brown eyes possessing an allure that’s both subtly sensual and fiery, your way of handling the most complex situations with the simplest intuition, your beauty that draws me away from every other woman I’ve known, and I make my way home – earthy, with clothes clinging to me, feverish from the cold, and you pull me to you, despite it all, and kiss me ever so gently, and then this house we live in transforms – the muted bulbs become chandeliers, the worn couches become luxurious, the hard bed becomes soft, and the dust and echoes of trauma dissipate, and when we make love, it’s the apex of a together actualization, it’s the epitome of a together transcendence, because it’s deeper than lust. It’s a bond we’ve forged over years of an almost us, to finally taking the step and constructing our architecture that’s standing despite each storm of tribulation, despite each fire of unresolved hurt and bitterness, and I know we’ll heal, not because of the time we spend together, but because of what we share.

© Nitin Lalit Murali (2018)

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14 responses

    • No. I haven’t told her. She knows I blog, but I pour out my deepest feelings here, and she’s read some of my earlier work when I wrote on another platform. I guess I’ll tell her eventually. It’s just that I’m a little nervous. I hope I’m making sense!

      • I get it. But I think deep inside she wouldn’t be surprised reading all this, the deep stuff. But the way you write her love, she’d be flattered.

      • Yeah, I’m saving it for the right moment. I’m dating my best friend who I lost touch with for awhile, and so, I’m waiting for the right opportunity when we’re both in our little space.

    • No they aren’t. I’ll send you a link of one of my favourite Einaudi pieces. I almost wept when I first heard it. It’s just so beautiful. And thank you Bruce. It’s always good to hear from you.

  1. I always love the way you describe love. Well your love.
    I’ve fond that expressing how deeply I love someone is the most difficult. That’s why there’s love making, it’s the surest way to express love for someone passionately and intimately.
    You do it with words though so well. The way you layer everything it all comes together so beautifully

    • It’s funny you should say that because i was reading Rilke’s letters today, and he talks about how a love poem is the most difficult thing to write. He urges his friend to write about other things before progressing to love. Lovemaking is definitely a beautiful, sensual way to express your love, but writing a true love piece with depth and little sensuality is something I’m still learning to do. The thing is that you don’t always feel it. There are times when we’re annoyed, or depressed, or in some other emotional state. So expressing true love with depth for me is definitely a writer’s greatest triumph. Orhan Pamuk does it beautifully in A strangeness in my mind. I don’t know if you’ve read it. And thank you so much.

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