A night of memories and of sighs

A night of memories and of sighs. Awaits me. On the other side of this orangish evening. Leaning off a precarious terrace. Into dust filled air. Mild summer breeze. Sweaty summer skin. Glowing in remnant sunlight.

Feeling like the connector of fates. When she asks me a question. Should she stay with him. Or move away. He, who betrays, loses his way, comes back to beg forgiveness. She, a mixture of fiction and many realities.

I, the confidant.

Can see the unwithstandable pain, obvious in her eyes. Even when, we, women try to engage in friendly banter. Try to shift topics. To forget her heartbreak. And just be girls.

And just be girls.With hair blowing carelessly in the wind. Messing up. Skirts gloating up like umbrellas. But despair takes over. Cars on the highway. Hundreds of them. Forming human chains, homebound.

I tell her, I may listen, but cannot answer. For I don't know, a bit, about him, about her. About love.

Of accurate misunderstandings, and clashing egos, of straying fantasies, and fluctuating loyalties, of the weaning of attachment, and voids between hearts, of being pragmatic over romantic and vice versa, of expecting things, and learning to be unconditional, I do not understand love. For me, it's a thing too far away. How could I be even expected to answer her.

I laugh, and it gets to her by contagion. I don't have any answers. Nobody has them rather. The night takes over the orangish evening. Smothered by memories and by sighs. And we part.


Surya Prakash V said...

In human affairs; one has no use of others answers; for ones questions come from the answers he already has; between the answer and it's cognition is the evasion of clarity gone astray, a detour taken for security, born of fear, hemmed with guilt.

It's very difficult to ask a good question; let alone an original question; for the culture in one is an invasive cue strengthening it's cause in every question one asks.

In confrontation all it takes is clarity; grace is good too. There is no mystery, no mistique and absolutely no superior being outside the skills I operate on.

Self esteem is a default nature of the being; it kills the answers one has; and the questions; and the comparison is over before the point of infliction.

There is a true possibility that one becomes a wildflower.

Naval said...

repelled by the appearance, please make the page background a bit lighter. It only adds to the agony.

The Sage said...

flo, it has been a time tested experience that rivers choose the path of least resistance, while canals are made through the path of maximum benefit...

Mrinalini said...

yes, a lot of people talk about it, but you actually know that there is nothing we understand of it..
a beautiful read :)

wildflower said...

I would love to believe that I have all the answers hidden somewhere inside me.

My blog goes with a disclaimer. A reader cannot blame me if s/he gets depressed as a consequence.

I do not understand the relevance. Do decode.

Thanks. I am so glad you got it :)

Gyanban said...

Godd snappy read. You shold consider a mini-series - keep floating....

wildflower said...

Thanks GB. That was pretty encouraging, I do have many series running on this blog itself if that's what you meant.

Krish Sripada said...

How I wish, you were Ruchi's confidant. How I wish. All her friends know what love is. Her parents and brother know what love is. Even her watchman knows what love is. That leaves just me. And now you. And a sleepless night.