Two Women & a paradox called Love!

The first time I got her glimpse, I was screaming right in highest decibels. There was a pain, which was not flatulence. But the first glimpse was enough to fight off the pain. It was the most beautiful sight, since I saw an angel so pure.

I was crying out loud, I didn’t know where I was, why I was here. This place looked strange. I didn’t know who everyone was. I cry. I realize I was crying, very late.

If god created piece of art, it can’t get better than her. She was the most beautiful feeling and it is not an occult to anyone about her. My mundane corsair was suddenly turned into Garden of Blossoms because she was there. She made me smile, made me cry, made me moan out of pain when she bit me ruthlessly even though I fed her with my all with no brevity.

She fed me, she kissed me. I yelled cried when it was all dark, but none other than she could understand my expressions. I was still shocked in the world, but she made the portents vanish like thin air. She was there always. I knew she was my savior.

She grew quite fast. She grew up to be very intelligent, very notoriously cantankerous and a vociferous rage. As the day went by, she wanted to make full of it. She wanted to learn. She wanted to jump, yell, dance, run naked, trouble neighbors, pick up fight with the boys, get hurt and hurt them even more but act she got hurt more. Suddenly it stopped. She bled. She became a woman. She grew up. I grew younger.

I was a rage. I punched boys. I was stronger than them. I broke windows of neighbors. I swallowed mud. I chewed dirt to solace. I kicked dogs. I hit them with stones. I ran, with nothing on, my world was my cosmos. Suddenly, I was hurt without knowing. It all stopped. She culminated my rage into ashes. She poured water onto my flaming hopes. I Changed. It all changed.

She became the talk of the town. Her marauding beauty never went unnoticed. I waited all the time for her. Be it to get a bar of soap or for an ethnic day outing from the social club called College. I waited. From 4 am to 4 am, for her to come. I gave her a device to call me in need. It never served the purpose. For once I hated God for creating boys, or boys who whistle, or boys who form their own cul de sac. I waited for her to be back. For every second the world seemed to be far away and I felt lonely.

I had a time of my life. Ethnic day was fun. I got myself drunk. I danced like there is no tomorrow. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t have to know does she? What difference does it make? I told her my agenda for the day and it isn’t distorted. Hookah was special so was smoke. I felt cool. I felt courageous. I felt I was a rebel the world would never get a chance to victimize. 11 pm became 4 am, courage and fun does not come in time tables. Oh my device battery ran out, so what? These are not my priorities.

The only time I admired her beauty was when she was asleep. The rest of the time, I was paranoid. She thought I was jealous, she thought I wanted to see her as me. No, that is an accusation, a crime charges hung upon me. She was the most beautiful person ever alive. When she cried when she could not take the pain, the days I would pamper with love and care, I loved it. I loved myself. But the irony is being myself for 3 days in a month is more than a crime. It was flatulence, a fraud. She was becoming a rebel. She wanted to prove me wrong. But she was young. She was growing up and I wanted her to grow in the right way. I didn’t know how to react when I read her sms’es. She thought I invaded her privacy. I am sorry for that. But I wanted her privacy to be hers. She had to be safe in the world of victimizations. She cannot handle it. She is sober. She is a kid. She can’t treat herself with profanity. This hysteria kills me. I want her to be at home, locked. I want her sensous, long and flying eagle legs, to be crystallized and locked with each other.

The short skirt was the coolest thing I ever attired. The comments in face book, even better. It is a shame; I use the college loo as my dress change dormitory. She is old, she can’t get over Salwar. Has she ever admired my beautiful legs?

She went by. She quarreled. She gave up hope on me; she thought I was her villain. How her life has become a pirates corsair where in the only play that happens is of gluttony of vehemence and vicious poisoned phrases. She went far by. I cried. I cried, I prayed. The glimpse of her wet blooded body, on the day she came out, when Death was staring right in my eyes, giving me an option. Why did I ignore Death to catch a glimpse of her? I know she will be back. But my old eyes seem to have lost vision. Did I do wrong? I will be proud of her always, does she know that? Did she know that I want myself to change to be a friend of her, but I am unable to help myself? I felt lonely. I am her friend. I am her shadow. I am her. Does she know that?

I won. I am independent. I am no more suffocated by the whims and fancies of her. She cried. But I don’t feel bad, because someone had to lose. I won. I had no angst against her. I want her to be proud of me. I will make her proud by the decisions I make. Why doesn’t she understand that I am grown up. I can take care of myself. The world is cruel, but I have enough sanity to face the cruelty with my weapons called brains. Why does not she understand, she needs to change with the times. She is old, and that is not applicable. Life is not a list of boundaries that one keeps encountering. I want to fly high, and she cant clip my wings. Why doesn’t she understand, I am not her villain to deliberately disappoint.

She called me, she said she is fine. I cried. I only cried. The same crying when she left me to be herself. The same yelling when I got her out into this adolescent world. I wanted her to be with me. I needed her touch. I wanted to wake up at 4 am to admire her beauty when she was sleeping, to catch her through an eye when she was admiring herself for long in the mirror. To admire her eyes that felt like an ocean. I never admired myself so much the way I admired her. She was a goddess’ incarnation. I wanted her to be mine. I want to be her child. I want her to pamper me and tell me it is all going to be fine.

I called her. She is disappointed with me. She did not talk to me. She kept on crying. She felt I let her down. I blame myself for that. But I know I can work out things. It is just that I wanted to meet her once. I want to feel the sanctity of her food. I wanted her to tell me I am the most beautiful woman alive. I want her to admire me at 4 am in the morning sneaking on to my room. I wanted her in my lap. To caress her troubled head. I want to be her mother. I want to tell her, Its all going to be fine.