As the mists descend, a hand snakes around my waist. The shroud shows no signs of lifting, but I know it’s you. No other unknown could ever make me feel so safe. As I close my eyes and inhale, I can only breathe you in, the scent of you mingled with pure, fresh breeze. As the wind whips my hair, lashing it against my face, reminding me probably of its presence there, I barely acknowledge it- that is how aware I am of your presence even though it’s so unseen. I feel a shiver run down my spine, but I know it’s not the cold causing it. Silence seems to have become another word for comfort, it’s hardly defeating, unable to make me think of emptiness. All my thoughts, all my energies, all my wide eyed dreams and fantasies seem to have assumed the form of you. Yet, as the shroud begins to lift, I am seized by urgency. My eyes search endlessly for you, unable to accept any other sight. My waist feels naked, I feel exposed like never before. The wind seems to be ruthlessly reminding me that while one presence is missing, the other less acknowledged one still remains. The silence has become deafening. My thoughts have turned upon me, mere illusions, lies I have coaxed my heart to believe. The knowledge of losing you has left me broken unlike the unknown and self-believed which left me ensconced in safety. The mists have descended again, but this time the mists are a shroud over my heart, my mental faculties.
Posted on: Thu, 11 Dec 2014 16:19:26 +0000
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