Damn, your eyes.

Draft 4
(HER)

He had beautiful eyes. Not the kind which makes you want to drown, but the kind that makes you want to swim back to the shore, which makes you want to sit on the sand while you watch the waves move back and forth, and which you just can’t get enough of. When I looked into his eyes, I saw myself. And even his eyes, just like his words, made me feel beautiful. But beneath the reflection lay emotions he never wanted to talk about. There was a story of fear narrated by his frantic eyeballs, fear of not being held on for, fear of not being worth someones time. He had once told me about it, about being an atelophobic (which he considered to be the worst fear of all).

His gleaming eyes told me about the times when he had breakdowns but no tears had come to his aid. Stars twinkled in his eyes, not of hope but of longing. Longing for the day when his fears, anxiety and confusion come to a rest. I wanted to be there when the day came, and I wanted to be the reason why.

(HIM)

She had beautiful eyes. Not the kind which makes you want to drown, but the kind which makes you want to set the world on fire. She had fire in her eyes, and it made you warm. It was a campfire by which you and your friends sat down and had marshmallows as you sang “Stairway to heaven”. It was a forest-fire burning down everything that came in its way. But it was also the fire that heated a blade to remove a bullet. It was beautiful, destructive and caring. But beneath the fire were stories only a few people knew. There was light in her eyes, unfolding the story of how she feared the darkness that consumed everything every night. There was passion in her eyes, a passion that burned brighter every day. And there was chaos, stories of when her heart had been broken, of when her mind hurt from thinking too much, and of when she just could not do anything about it.

The fire in her eyes was not of anger, but of intensity, passion and love. It was ablaze, and I wanted to burn in it. I wanted to destroy myself in her love. I wanted to burn in her fire. I wanted it so much, that even as I take my last breath, I hold it in a little longer and burn a little more.

 – Excerpts from a book I will never write.


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Cinderella’s shoes.

“Upon the palms of my hand, I have written your name.”  – Isaiah 49:16

He had never felt the warmth of her fingers before. He had anticipated it to be like the warm sun on a cold morning, something that would make him shiver and smile. He had imagined it to be like hot coffee, the softest quilt, and the rush of caffeine in his veins. He pictured it to be normal, with a shade of love. It was nothing like it.

Late at night, as they looked at each other, too tired to say anything, he touched her face. His fingers trailed on her skin, as he touched her cheeks. They were cold and he would want it no other way. He held her face and looked at her as shivers ran through him. And then she touched his face. Her fingers trailed on his skin. They were cold and he would want it no other way. Everything inside him froze, except where she held him. He felt no rush of blood, and he could feel her fingers getting colder. And he liked it. It was like walking toward the sunset.

He placed his hand on top of hers, and let the fingers intertwine. They fit like puzzle pieces. The cold was slowly ebbing away. The warmth was returning to their fingers, their cheeks were getting redder, and their eyes were locked onto each other. It was 3:04 A.M. and he remembered something. “Nothing good happens after 2 A.M.” And he knew he was screwed. And he was happy.

They say hands are like Cinderella’s shoes.
They say hands are magical.
They say hands are what makes tomorrows.
With her hand in mine, I think I had more than just tomorrows.

This wasn’t normal, with a shade of love. This was love, with a shade of insanity. The sun was setting.

“People fall in love in mysterious ways. Maybe just the touch of a hand.” – Ed Sheeran


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The fallen stars.

The fallen stars.

“Have you seen a fallen star anywhere?” – Neil Gaiman

Star gazing, and
Neck kissing
Stormy nights, and
Wild mornings
You.
You were my sun
and star,
my road-side fun
and half-burnt cigars.
My warmth
that left me burnt
And my beautiful scars.
We were everything you,
and I weren’t.

How did the sun burn out?
How did we turn out
to be the fire
that would end us both?
Did it
end us both?
Or is it just me
with blistered skin
and feelings akin?
How did the stars fall down?

A lost love.
A bleeding scar.
A devastated me.
Gazing at the stars.


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The fallen star.

“Have you seen a fallen star anywhere?” – Neil Gaiman

Star gazing, and
Neck kissing
Stormy nights, and
Wild mornings
You.
You were my sun
and stars,
my road-side fun
and half-burnt cigars.
My warmth
that left me burnt
And my beautiful scars.
We were everything you,
and I weren’t.

How did the sun burn out?
How did the stars fall down?
How did we turn out
to be the fire
that would end us both?
Did it
end us both?
Or is it just me
with blistered skin
and feelings akin?

A lost love.
A bleeding scar.
A devastated me.
Gazing at the stars.


Previous post : Home.
Related post : Always?

Friends, if you like reading my work, do share it with your friends (on whatever social media you deem appropriate). It would be amazing to have more people reading my compositions. Please help my infinity grow bigger ∞