Torn.

He hugged me, a warmth spreading through the veins of my body and blood gushing across from under my pale brown skin. He tried to let me go, I tightened my hands wrapping it around his back, I felt safer hugging him - he wanted to let me go even as I shivered. A few silent tussles after, he succeeded and I felt a void fill the insides of me as I looked up to see his face. There was no one. It was my own comfort trying to comfort me; my own insecurity and my own sense of unfulfilment, my ingratitude and my cynicism getting the better of me. For years I shrugged love, comfort and security, the three things I crave the most today. I took them for granted, for they came to me served on a silver platter.

His eyes filled with love still haunts me as I go to bed with my pillow for company.
I am still reminded of his strong arms when I see someone lifting heavy objects for me across a staircase.
I sometimes mistakenly dial his number every time I need to make a gas reservation.
I miss his white teeth and the wonderful smile he always welcomed me with whenever he greeted me.
I used to love the way his hair ruffled in the wind and a tiny wisp would settle down on his forehead and he would brush it aside, smilingly.
I never miss a single birthday of his, wishing him promptly at the stroke of twelve.
I still smile at the frayed ends of the black and white photograph we took years ago one sultry afternoon on the beach after we decided that we'd be together till death do us apart.

Unfortunately, death really did do us apart.

Through the glass

The tender covering on my eye twitches as a frail source of light tries to distract my eyes from being tired. I, rather, my eyes, do not relent. The light begins to flicker at uniform intervals, slowly but steadily. Notwithstanding the curiosity, my eyes crack open, only to see a blurred amalgamation of street lights, screened by thin bell pins falling from the sky as the growing wind pushes a small flower pot off a gardener's terrace. I look back and forth only to see the changing colours of the lights, all through a window pane with my nose pressed against it. Nothing can make me feel like a child again.