Monday, August 5, 2019

c l o s e d

little by little those tiny drops of the late evening rainfall are all over my black t-shirt. it makes sense that an ocean is assembled of water drops. my clothes are soaked, so have the fingers on your feet when you dragged and dropped them on the monsoon flood, as soon as the traffic signalled to stop. I  hit your shoulders gently as you apply the brakes and your smell finds its way to my senses. 

I can never describe your odour as my vocabulary of smells lacks its adjective. but there’s one thing for sure: it only reminds me of you. 

when the rain started to sprinkle, it was then I could open my eyes to see how far you have managed to rebel against your beloved heavy showers. 

ahead, besides, and behind you, I could only see the bokeh of yellow lights for closing my eyes for too long. I can't tell where we are right away. but it feels as if the sky's all around us, and we're surrounded by yellow stars rested at the road. 

a moment later, my eyes fixed their aperture.

queues of vehicles stood between rani pokhari and durbar high school. and us, riding one of those many vehicles, and like those many, waiting to hear a whistle. my tiny head peeked from your shoulder to get a glance of the right rear mirror. 

I steal a look of you: tired and a solution of sweat and rain dripping from your face. but somehow, you don't feel familiar. and I don't know why and how but it doesn't make any sense why I'm sitting behind you. 
where are we going? where are you taking me?

it's not the rain that you disdain—you've always loved it—yet you have an expression of rage, sorrow and confusion. 
how can you feel them all at once? and why?

I have known you for two years now yet it feels as if I had never seen you before. 
why is it that you look different? or is it me who has forgotten how you look? 

oddly, I'm only familiar with the rhythm of your breathing. it’s so low that it could easily blend with the noise here. yet it’s so loud to me like my favourite indie songs I play every midnight. 

you start the engines. but I don’t think I’m ready to go. I don’t want to, without the answers. I need to know. 
I want to know.

as I keep gesturing you to tell something, you're too focused to leave. the sound waves of many engines starting, hit my eardrums. they get louder and louder each second. 
I don’t want to leave. 

the horns from behind are also getting closer to us. I shut my ears off with my palms and close my eyes tightly, again. 

the sound doesn’t stop and it feels like we’re trapped here since ages. the symphony feels aggressive and I don’t want to hear it any longer. 

I take a huge sigh, preparing to scream but within that moment, I realise I no longer have to. 

I hear nothing. 

not the horns, the engines or even you breathing. 

as I open my eyes,
this time, there’s no yellow bokeh of light from the vehicles. 

no one is here.
not even a single vehicle.
not even you.

it’s just me standing at the middle of the same road. I look to my right, and there’s rani pokhari. I resonate myself with her. isolated, frail and slowly losing hope to reassemble myself.

I've been to this world before. sometimes you drop me here, most of the times, I visit myself. things here have not changed since I last closed myself, neither might they ever.

and the feeling I get keeps getting familiar with every visit.

it feels as if I’m right here yet I don’t exist anymore. 
I know the street can lead me home but I don’t remember my way anymore.
and my soaked clothes still smell of you, even if I don’t know who you are anymore.

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