And as our fingers effortlessly entwine, we give in to the cravings that try to push their way through the many nervous misgivings we hold. And then, love is held like a child, nurtured and taken care of, only to be given wing.
Having been corrupted by the senile attempts of the world gone by, I often find myself resting my head on your shoulders, strong and resilient, capable to upset any springing emotion of gloom. And as we walk hand in hand among faces, known and disturbed by our alarming sense of waywardness, the smiles notwithstanding, we seem not to notice. As I was beginning to question beliefs gone astray, you came and instilled what now seems like the heart of a young child.
You seem pleasant, like those bright summer evenings spent on grasslands, with the birds fluttering by cooing love in the hearts of the young. Exuding charm that sends ripples through the heart of the child in frocks, carefully nestled in the heart of mine.
In the night, as your strong arms find their path all around me, gone is the child-like pleasantness of the evening. As your veins transpire and travel through spaces, craving niches on my skin, we aren't the disarmed children we were, rather, we're crafting beauty on each other's capes. Beauty characterized by red screaming lines of love, that scream out in agony in separation. And once the storm subsides, we're left smiling that very same innocent smile of us.
And evenings spent, talking our own crazy language will be our's and our's only.
Not to be shared.
Not to be questioned.
Recurring evening, spent on us.
P. S. Also, this blog has been awarded by the very generous Ajay from The Shaded Shadows.
Thank you. :)
1 comment:
Loved it. Very sound without being ugly(the way mine is,most of the times).
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