She always envied him his precision while juggling with words. His ability to sum up all the thoughts in just a few letters. Like a sharp tip of a pin.
Her words always seemed to be running on the curved paths of her perception and she could swear that sometimes she was even able to hear their laughter inside her head. The words would mock her in various ways - sometimes they would refuse to fly out of her mouth and she would stand there among the people feeling smaller to any of them. At other times they would pair themselves inside her mind in some strangely shaped clusters that she wasn't able to comprehend or they would hide themselves inside a box and push some unwanted word out for her to ponder upon.
She sighed. It took her 600 seconds to be able to come up with the last few sentences. She also had to open a dictionary 5 times.
She sat quietly on the threshold. The caterpillar made a bed for itself inside a leaf, however, this time she was sure that it was just a pest. A grasshopper sat on her hand few nights back, a man sitting next to her told her that it must be a sign of good luck. She smiled. It made her feel warm, yet at the same time she knew that he was not the one she wanted to curl next to on a cold winter night.
She sat on the floor by the wall and quietly observed his fingers moving on the piano keys. They both looked similar to her- the keys that lost its sparkling white colour and the roughness of his hands. He loved a woman once, she knew that. He would play the piano for her and watch her as she would dance for him in the room. He would then stand up and join her in the dance. He would hide his face in her hair and kiss her neck. His fingers would gently play with the white skin of her breasts. She flew outside the room one day, just like the vapour drifting above a blue and red cup of hot tea. He turned himself into a magician then, yet sometimes the smell of strawberries is stronger than that of magic runes, so he hid his belief in magic inside a box and turned himself into a jester instead. He still played the piano, yet the courage to dance had left him years back.
She sat on the floor by the wall and quietly observed his fingers moving on the piano keys. She felt drawn to that rough skin, newly acquired strands of grey hair. She loved the music that he played and often wished of becoming a book that he would read before sleep. Maybe then he could put pins and nails into the walls in the living room and hang some paintings with not-so-straight lines there.
She did not feel lost this time, she did not need to cry in the rain, she did not need to bang at the doors and to shout to him to pull her out of that invisible mist that she had become. She grew up a bit. And she did not need him to dance, she needed him to read.
And as he read he took off his shirt and she could see his faceless body. She came closer and as she touched him they both dissolved into one drop of red and blue. The red ball that a spoilt rich child threw out of the window of a moving car and the blue ball that another child saw in her dream as she lay her head on a pillow made out of her mother's sari.
I took a sip of tea. My fingers were tired of dancing on the black and white keys of the piano. As I turned I saw a girl sitting at the threshold. She was smiling. She stood up and began to dance...
Her words always seemed to be running on the curved paths of her perception and she could swear that sometimes she was even able to hear their laughter inside her head. The words would mock her in various ways - sometimes they would refuse to fly out of her mouth and she would stand there among the people feeling smaller to any of them. At other times they would pair themselves inside her mind in some strangely shaped clusters that she wasn't able to comprehend or they would hide themselves inside a box and push some unwanted word out for her to ponder upon.
She sighed. It took her 600 seconds to be able to come up with the last few sentences. She also had to open a dictionary 5 times.
She sat quietly on the threshold. The caterpillar made a bed for itself inside a leaf, however, this time she was sure that it was just a pest. A grasshopper sat on her hand few nights back, a man sitting next to her told her that it must be a sign of good luck. She smiled. It made her feel warm, yet at the same time she knew that he was not the one she wanted to curl next to on a cold winter night.
She sat on the floor by the wall and quietly observed his fingers moving on the piano keys. They both looked similar to her- the keys that lost its sparkling white colour and the roughness of his hands. He loved a woman once, she knew that. He would play the piano for her and watch her as she would dance for him in the room. He would then stand up and join her in the dance. He would hide his face in her hair and kiss her neck. His fingers would gently play with the white skin of her breasts. She flew outside the room one day, just like the vapour drifting above a blue and red cup of hot tea. He turned himself into a magician then, yet sometimes the smell of strawberries is stronger than that of magic runes, so he hid his belief in magic inside a box and turned himself into a jester instead. He still played the piano, yet the courage to dance had left him years back.
She sat on the floor by the wall and quietly observed his fingers moving on the piano keys. She felt drawn to that rough skin, newly acquired strands of grey hair. She loved the music that he played and often wished of becoming a book that he would read before sleep. Maybe then he could put pins and nails into the walls in the living room and hang some paintings with not-so-straight lines there.
She did not feel lost this time, she did not need to cry in the rain, she did not need to bang at the doors and to shout to him to pull her out of that invisible mist that she had become. She grew up a bit. And she did not need him to dance, she needed him to read.
And as he read he took off his shirt and she could see his faceless body. She came closer and as she touched him they both dissolved into one drop of red and blue. The red ball that a spoilt rich child threw out of the window of a moving car and the blue ball that another child saw in her dream as she lay her head on a pillow made out of her mother's sari.
I took a sip of tea. My fingers were tired of dancing on the black and white keys of the piano. As I turned I saw a girl sitting at the threshold. She was smiling. She stood up and began to dance...
