There’s a little black stone
In me,
Since you've gone.
It’s safe inside a window
overlooking the ocean
that’s forever caught
in irregular tides.
Sometimes the spray catches the Stone
and falls right in.
Absorbed by this little
unyielding,
unassuming bit.
I’m really good at looking past it
from inside the room
inside the window.
That’s where I live,
ever since.
It’s a silent room,
but for the unrhythmic waves
and inexplicable
palpable air.
Sometimes though,
something happens.
Maybe your voice comes forth
from where there must be a fault
in the Stone.
Maybe your heartbeat resounds
from where the tumultuous waves
seep into the Stone.
And then,
the waves inside me,
they leak out
in shame.
Weak, wispy drops of water
fall through from what
was once a mountain spring.
They’re drying up.
Sometimes though,
the Stone becomes the room.
And I’m plunged into memories
that are all but the reality.
Right into your arms,
our fingers interlaced as we walk
the streets.
Me sitting on your lap
watching something both of us
were really into.
You making me a coffee the
way I almost liked.
Us.
I’m engulfed in the dark
non-being of the Stone.
Hard,
yet stoic.
In this stone room,
I’m not me,
as I am today.
But me,
as we were.
The waves outside me cease to exist
and those within,
have found the still ocean.
And just like that,
I'm back to the room
inside the window.
And the little dark stone is on the table.
Strangely,
I feel empty.
As though the stone were inside me,
and now ripped away.
I can see a part of myself
lapped up by the waves
that cant make up their mind -
if they want to crash and flood over
till they're eventually harmonized
or
engulf all and return to the ocean’s
still arms.
Yes,
I know I could throw the stone out,
and let it go
out into the esurient waves.
But
this room and everything in it,
is only borrowed
from the one who eternally
stays.
Image Credits: Somewhere on google
So, I've had quite a few conversations with you'll in the last week about writing and the themes I typically choose to write in (or the ones that choose me). In one such conversation, someone did point out that romantic love/heartbreak has not featured a lot. And I concur. The reasons are hold their own enigma, and are best left in its mysterious embrace! But here's the thing, I do write about love and heartbreak (both of which I'm a certified pro in) but these pieces are so personal, that I prefer sharing them only with those to whom they are dedicated. If you have ever received such a piece, you know what I'm talking about.
However, the conversation got me thinking, and I dug out a piece from the archives to share with you. So here's a glimpse of a hitherto unshared piece about love and loss. Why on a Tuesday you ask? Well, because it does seem like an awfully long week now that Monday's done.
Here's to a nostalgic Tuesday!