Works of RK

No. I am not in a shell. As I grew older, I grew myself layers upon layers of skin. Each time I found a vulnerable corner, I covered it with a cloak of invincibility. As a child, I was lighter, I could fly. Now, I barely hover. Growing up, I used to plunge into every stream and sea. I was not afraid of the sea, its darkness and it's depths, for I believed that they would not sink me. I am not sure of that anymore. My being grows heavier, and I am afraid of the sea, afraid that now,  it might drown me. The road that I have taken, was only mine to take. The paths, good or bad, were mine to tread. This journey is mine and I cannot loan it to you to cover these distances for me. If your path crosses mine, and it feels right, you can travel some distance with me. This is your choice, your freedom, my side is free. The slight droop and the drag that you see is from the heaviness of my being. Is from the seeming continuity of this never ending journey. Some day my friend, I will rest this...

The silences between us stretch longer than these desolate island shores. The slow tide of time is eating away into the very ground under our feets, yours and mine. I loved you once, and I keep telling that to myself over and over again, even as I feel myself standing on shaky grounds, with the sand beneath me hurriedly caving into the sea. We won't talk about it. We will look into each others eyes and discuss the weather, even as the sea around us turn choppy and the waves slowly run inshore. We will not build one more bridge and cross over. We will not take one more piece of white paper, and write off our sins. We will not sing one last song together, nor have one more drink to get drunk and fall asleep into each others arms. You won't shreik and holler and chase me in feigned anger. You won't tell me, that you will kill me. You won't swing your wet hair and spray my white work shirt. You won't bathe me with your dove or spray your Charlie on me anymore. There wil...

I am sitting at this airport somewhere and I see a girl who looks quite like you. Something that she did caught my attention. She was almost as tall, almost as fair and her hair, it was just as straight and shiny. The way she looked into her bag for the boarding pass, the way she held her head high and her gait graceful and stately, reminded me of you. And then she looked at me, and the way she looked at me, I knew it could not be you. She did not look at me the way you look at me when you love me, nor when you hate me. Only you can look at me, the way you look at me. 

From the dead barks of our yesterday's, hardened with hurt and regret, scrawny with so much of scrounging, and flaky with all this neglect, we can still will for hope to bloom, faith to survive. And then sometimes, like a miracle, from the this stoic heart full of deadened despair, a new shoot will grow , you will never know.

What if I did not have this phone? Would I have so longingly stared into my empty spaces just as well? There are times when the noise of your silences, deafen me with its roar. It's almost as if an Ocean has come visiting a sea. I am home, and my home is missing me. I write, but my words are not me. I try to force meanings into memories, but my memories, they deceive me. How much of me over the years, have you taken away from me. And how I wish you would take away,  the little that remains as well. This ocean so desperately longs for its sea.

I call her once in a while, and make idle chatter until she brings up you. I don't want her to know, that I think about you. I think about you constantly; but she is important too. And when she talks to me about you, I feel like you are standing on the other side of this endless shoreline, watching me watching you. It's one more day of living without you.

I look at her and she reminds me so much of you. I know that she is another, but I like her not because of herself, but because of you. She looks into my eyes and find me staring at her all the time. Sometimes she asks me, why do you stare at me all the time? I am right here next to you, but you look at me as if you are seeing me for the first time, all the time! I look at her and I hear you asking me to stop staring at you. I look at her and hear you asking me to grow up. For her to live, independent of you, I have to let go of a part of me that lives with you. And whenever I have tried doing that, I have discovered that in losing you, I lose most of myself too. And whenever I have tried doing that, I have found in me a stranger who goes by some other name. I cannot have another name, for I have not answered to any other name than the one by which you called me, the last time you called me. Death may not bring a closure to that which this life could not sustain.