Metaphors And Ironies

I will never forget that night. The first time I encountered those soulful eyes and immediately saw a future in them.

Lights of red, green, and blue roved over that beach party, matching the speed and rhythm of Ed Sheeran’s ‘Shape of You’. The salty air was filled with the smell of smoke, cigarettes, and sweat.

Amidst the sea of dancing bodies around, I don’t know how we found each other’s eyes.

I don’t know why everything seemed to slow down when you stood close, invading my personal space, breathing the same air I breathe.

We asked each other’s names and both answered with smiles and whispers.

You were a man of few words. But each seemed weighed and spoken— like a vow. That successfully climbed and took down each and every wall that I’ve built throughout the years to protect my young and naïve heart.

Passion flowed deep in my bones, like blood through my veins, when you uttered my name the second time around. I don’t know why. But there’s something different about how you make it sound like it is the most perfect thing to say.

You told me that I am a metaphor. I am the first girl you’ve ever seen having summer in her heart and sunshine in her smiles.

You know, I could’ve made tons of poems out of all the metaphors that you attached to my name. That incredibly smart mouth of yours never failed to sprout flowery words that tickled my ears.

We danced and drank the night away.

Alcohol burned in our bloodstreams, but we knew in ourselves, we’re still sober and sane.

You asked me to a walk. I readily agreed. The night was still young, anyway.

Words were nowhere to be found during the first few minutes of our walk. But there was a comfortable silence lurking behind the silence— like an old friend.

Hair disheveled as the cold summer wind blew along the coast.

I quietly watched how our feet took simultaneous steps, white sand visible.

That was all eight, long months ago.

These are the moments when memories materialise in my eyes and roll down my cheeks.

Within numbered days, you made me the happiest girl on Earth. And I am saying this without the slightest bit of exaggeration.

As I look at our photographs, I realized that when a person loves, it gives away a part of itself for someone else’s keeping. That’s the joy and the agony of it.

Every day, I am surviving little and sudden deaths.

Every day, I am swallowing that sharp, and bitter lump in my throat.

Every day, I am trying to hide in the phantom of your memories.

But the places I hide only recollect the fragmented debris of you.

Like Samson to Delilah. . . you, too, are my downfall. The sweetest kind of it.

All the days we were together, we pretended that we didn’t have to say goodbye.

We disregarded the undeniable and unchangeable truth.

We spent our glorious days well.

We laughed until our stomach ached, danced like no one was watching, climbed to the roof at two in the morning and talked about the future. A future that is filled with nothing but love and happiness.

We watched movies, took long-drives, and chased the sunset.

I will always remember how you’d pull me closer to your chest every time I cry because of Jack Dawson and Augustus Waters.

I will always remember how it felt every time you snatch my hand from my lap, entwine it with yours, and kiss the back of it.

I will always remember the slow setting sun. Just like how I slowly fell in love with you.

How our eyes met and closed. How our face moved closer and closer. How our lips met and opened, slowly. Gently..

To be continued...