Her long, dark, shiny, free-flowing hair. Her well-shaped eyes. The little scar that lay innocently beneath her right eye. The sensual dance by her lips. “The heck” aura that enveloped the atmosphere when she spoke. The mild, contagious craze, she exuded. I stared, drooling, at her and the flowery cloth that housed her body. Sheepishly, I listened, undisturbed, to hear her introduce herself as all were requested to. Like a new typewriter strikes an inserted paper, gently, her name struck a cord.

Eagerness, sprightliness, adorned me. I wore them, boldly. More days, I looked forward to. My heart hopped and hoped. Like the baby in Mary’s womb, my heart leapt for joy on days I saw her, afterwards. And like yucky sex, my raised hopes were dashed on the days I had hoped to catch a glimpse of her, but failed to.

Humans are toys in the hands of fate. I soon found us stuck together. This set-up christened life, toys with us. Unexpectedly, she slapped her lips on my cheek. It was “her kingdom come.” This moment could have been eureka! But no! We disagreed more. Back and forth, our boat sailed. We went incommunicado, more. I loved her, wanted her around, wished we could share the peace, I experienced in solitude. But wishes are not horses.

And now…

She is due to leave. The evening does not meet with the morning. Our paths might never cross. In life, you win and lose. This loss is a seaweed that might halt my boat. Still, I will bask crazily in the glory of these last moments. Maybe. Or perhaps, this is all a trance and I need to voyage back to life.

This is not another story. These are words tattooed on a broken heart.


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