It's just that, there is plenty of love for every one. Forgive me, it reaches a bit late than wanted.
"So nothing's changed You’ve been lying through your teeth again The lion’s lost it’s mane You’ve been cornered into something you can’t win What's the point in having something If that something makes you thin?"
Have you ever peeped a hole through your own pair of shoes? Of course you have, whom are you lying to? Your new rustic shoes don't deserve lies. That shoe rack of yours is experienced enough to smell your true sweaty socks.
Me? I am extremely particular about my shoes. They need to be a darker shade of blue. About my size of this big foot. Comfortable enough to last for long. But, mostly blue.
Since I was a new born, it was imposed over my innocent innocence to walk with my shoes on. "Your feet will grow enormously and then you'd stomp upon us." was the permanent warning I often got to echo through myself.
But to walk over with your sweat leaving evanescent tiny tweeny marks all around the floor; isn't that alluring? As if, you feel connected to what you grew from. As if, you have a sense of reaching back to where you came from as you peek behind and the trail still remains fresh for you? As if you are, for once, yourself. As if you are, for once, more found than lost.
To polish the black shiny ones every night and to clean off the mud that you collected over your regulars is such a mess on your shoulders. Do you think you still can paint a better picture with this enormous responsibility upon yourself?
I guess, your God is confused at times. The sunlight keeps on contracting itself after every few minutes. These clouds cast upon the brightest Sun at 12 and I tell you, my clock does not strike itself, it is slightly genetically related to myself, and yet the laziness is hereditary. Then it was all golden around; now the warmth is nowhere to be found.
Some of us break through these clouds, shining beyond comparison to the sun. Most of us place a hand over our forehead parallel to the ground and dare to stare at the solar eclipse. I'd turn blind that way, I won't risk it. A bunch of us vermins give up and seep down the potholes to wait for the clouds to depart.
Me? Why do you have to bring this to me every time? Well, I stand in my kitchen placing a lid over something I prepared poorly for which I'd take full credit at any cost, drinking gushes of a coolant that is not my own; I simply place curtains over my windows and pretend to get lost among them as they levitate. I don't really mind the fluctuation of these lights hanging upside down to the ceiling. And yes, I often ask my neighbour to ring a bell by my doorstep, if it even operates anymore as I don't remember any guests forcefully welcoming themselves inside past two years, whenever the sun takes a rest and these clouds say "Bonjour!"
People like me; and you, people like us. We don't have enough patience to wait for eternities and bask in the sun as it arrives leisurely. Nor it's true that we have enough patience to wait for the caffeine to get to the bottom of the mug. We don't tend to wait for the sunrise; I reminded you, isn't indolence a character trait of ours? So, what do we usually do when the weatherman confuses us? We sleep through it; every single opportune moment of a limited edition of time.
I opened the door today after struggling through the curtains as I heard the screeching doorbell. It works quite well.
And my creaky neighbour greeted me well as she deliberately asked me in a sudden breakthrough, "So, what have you planned for your life?" "Who knows? It mostly depends upon what life has planned for me."
A disgusted wrinkled look and the obscene news of the farewell of this noon's sunlight responded well. I fitted myself perfectly into my two shoes; mistakenly, or maybe intentionally, left foot in the right one, while the right one was the left one; and the one that was left lying was actually the right one. My hand's finger tugged my ankle comfortably into the blue and I got my engine on to head out.
It was, all grey outside. Inside, it was all grey. I had my mobile in my hand; the white pair of earphone buds screaming in my ears; a song I've never heard before rung through me, and I rushed through the volume, exceeding the warning lesson and silencing the world around, giving my preferred voices to everything. You see, when it comes to music, living or dead, none can escape my composition.
I searched for my pockets around my laps yet they weren't seemingly existent. Why did I wear something lacking pockets? So I simply tugged the mobile by my waist; at the back. I found a sweet spot around the street, in the middle of the road, against every velocity that passed by me. The winds hushed me often, and I let them kiss me again. It isn't often that someone makes you silence the screaming desires inside, is it?
"Don’t look so concerned You can paint a bigger picture When you’re so far off the ground Well it's okay if you’re another one to learn You’ve been smoking in the kitchen Drinking wine thats not your own"
The notes of the song did seem dull so I looked up above and I saw the bordered sun. My legs felt heavy and I couldn't sway around. The sweat seeped through and I flipped my tangled hair open. The world watched me moulding into an insanity, yet I simply found a better way to lessen the weights off ground. I removed my desirable sneakers and placed them over the roof of a mudded Mustang.
I was, barefoot, and I danced, like every other eye was watching me, I danced like I cared for everything; I danced to a tune that didn't match my mood and I danced even if the sunlight returned. Even if, the promise of a rain through such a pre-monsoon couldn't be kept. And suddenly I started to see, so perfect and complex.
I felt the hands of my neighbour dragging me back to the indoors. Yet you see, the cement beneath felt home, and so did the sun above. The rustle of the leaves was still louder than the music and the sweat in my armpits felt humane. To feel the gold over my skin; it felt, home again. But before a smile could beckon over my face, she pulled me inside, wrapped me up among the curtains and hushed me to prepare some tea. It isn't often that someone makes you silence the screaming desires inside, is it? This time; they couldn't be shushed.
She left, leaving me with fluctuating lights above. And I was still inebriated with the alcoholic sensation through my veins and the smoked sense of nicotine addiction which rose to my nose and seeped through my lungs as I breathed the smoke bruising from my skin as it witnessed sunshine after a forever.
Today, I realised, a Forever ends so soon. But I won't remind you ever; a Never, never ends.
Pulling myself out of the hallucinations, the tonight flickered and I felt winter beneath my feet. Marble, melting with my sweat. I realised; I was barefoot. Without no shoes on. I lost them. At least, that's what I'd like to believe.
And it occured to me given my luck, I'll run without thinking and fall without blinking an eye and I'm forced to bear witness like a fool that's just waiting in line. This time, no rules bound me. This time around, no blue shoes can stop me from following the trails I have left behind. This time, my clock would strike again and I'd open my doors before the bell rings.
Wait for me, in the sun, would you? I want to walk with you in someone else's shoes. Through somebody else's point of view so that you don't know who I am. I don't want to be myself this time. I want to be someone who sings in a voice like you feel that you know me. But don't worry, I'd never let you know me.
You'd not recognise a face as hidden as mine. Just a slight dimple as I smile or vowel myself out; open uncombed hair dashing around, a yellow tainted skin from all of the hide and seek with this sun, a pointless; worthless apparition you'd notice among the shadows and you'd know perhaps, I'd stretch my dirty hands to place in yours like a child. Hold me.
This time, I'd be barefoot. Dancing like everyone is watching, while none is. Dancing like I care for everything, while I don't.
I won't ask you, "Who are you?" Forgive me, I'm hopeless with faces. But if you promise me to let me escape along whenever you do, trust me, this one last time, trust me, that's all I'd ever want to know.
That time, you'd be standing barefoot in the middle of the street. No matter what the weather would call for; that time, we'd ditch our shoes and our umbrellas. That time, we'd wait for the night when I know, while no one else does, the moon multiplies in your eyes by an odd number.
And I'll try my best like I know you, to know; who are you, who are you,
regulus_azazelI sought out to find a new color that day, my day hasn't ended yet, .... has yours? Last time we spoke, it seemed like your day had strectched itself over quite a few weeks...not a whore, a wild cracked wandering gypsy