▪where lovers go when they're tired▪
"We can sit here for a while? Can't we? There's this bench. Sit down, wait let me help. There you go."
You sat, your shirt puffed with the air inside and you let out a tired sigh, stretched your arms and dried your sweaty palm.
"Is it a day yet?"
"No. It's a night. But let me tell you this, it's beautiful."
It took me a few moments to smile. I smiled, a smile so genuine, it made my cheeks hot and flushed.
"It must be still dark, isn't it? It's always dark."
"It's dark if I don't look at you."
"And why is that?"
"There's a lot of lanterns around us. Can't you see? Why can't you see?" A despair in your voice. "There's a lot of lights around us. The sky is lit by all of these stars. And then there's you, your eyes, they contain all of this light, so beautifully. You're so beautiful."
Your hand reached out to mine, intertwining it's fingers with mine.
"What colour are these lights?"
"Any colour you'd name."
"Is there any orange?"
"There's lots of orange."
"Can I feel your face?"
My hand raised to your face. And I felt you. A blurry image, orange and smudged all around it's edges. There were hints of yellow and white, a lean face that seemed chubby when you smiled as I touched you, felt you. Your moustache didn't seem groomed, given all of this time you lent me. Your eyes, as you closed them, when my fingers gently ran over them, felt large and innocent. Your face was warm and lovely, and perhaps, closer to mine than I last remember. Your lips felt dry on mine, both alike, yet then we kissed and I closed my eyes. There was this darkness, and this time around, it seemed viable.
This darkness; it was the darkness of that chasm between our palms and of all of those gulfs between our tangled fingers. It was the darkness of the interstices between our lips in that moment.
It was where the lovers go when they're tired.
"So shall we get going?"
"To the sunrise?"
"Yes that's what we've been looking for, right?"
"That's all you wanted?"
The walk was quiet.
My skin was warmer. There was sweat on my forehead. There were chirps. There were birds. There was I.
"This is the sunrise."
"I don't see it."
There wasn't you.
"I don't see it."
"You're so blind."
"I don't understand. I can't see the light. I can't see it."
"Well this is where you wanted to be. These are my clouds. This is my sky. My sun. My birds."
"This is wrong. You must be mistaken."
"If the sunrise was all you wanted, you should've let me know the night we met. The next morning was a sunrise. And so was the next. And all of those weeks, all of those months except the ones when it rained and we figured out how to dance when we were both clueless."
"Why did you leave my hand?"
"I'm leaving. I'm tired of all of the walking."
"You said you'd never leave."
There wasn't you.
This was a sunrise. This was all I wanted. This was it.
Your clouds were mine.
But there wasn't you.
I turned around, walked away, ran and stumbled and fell over the puddles you carried me over. My ankle twisted and it healed, my feet were sore and I walked. I walked, ran and stumbled and fell. I walked, and I ran and I saw you.
I saw you, in the gentle after light, where your world falls apart. I saw you where the light greets the dark, where the lovers go when they're tired.
I saw you and walked upto you, reached out my hand to your chest and felt your heart. It really was you. This was you and I could see. The world I was living in, wasn't dark anymore. I saw you, held your hand, as strongly as you held mine. This was what I saw and you couldn't, your darkness so peculiar to me, that it turned into my light.
There was this darkness, and this time around, it seemed viable. It was where the lovers go when they're tired.
The two way street led me to a midway, somewhere second hand lovers have second thoughts about the darkness that they share.