Friday, March 02, 2012

Is it Me or You?

What could've been more enchanting than a surreal morning with mist around, lakeside, a bucolic setup, and a happy couple, apparently, enjoying a cup of tea!

He seemed to reign the dominion of words, and she seemed to be the mistress of expressions. They were a couple, madly in love with art. Like it seemed. Therefore they got along.

The sluggish wind played with her hair, while she reminisced in a memory. He caught her expression and demanded a reply. He asked, "Things seem to be conflating decently well between you and Ed."

She smiled back deceivingly and shifted her head towards, right, and then left negating his assumption.

"Ephemeral, it will be, Darling!", he sounded surreptitious.

"There exists nothing, Sam", she explained.

"Anyway. It doesn't really matter!", he said.

"You sound exonerating. Thank you.", she was quintessentially sardonic.

"Having emphasized it a million times, I still would want you to reconsider settling with Ed", he sounded evocative.

"The topic was closed long ago Sam. Let's not bring it up again. There exists nothing between us. We are just good friends", she thought she was speaking invisibly.

"Learn to mock your emotions well, Lynn. It's not an embrocation!", he teased hurtingly.

"Well, I don't need to", she reserved her comments.

He lifted the tea cup and threw at her. She sensed the heat ruin her skin. She wiped her face and looked at him and laughed.

"You suspicious bastard. It's futile explaining myself and telling you how much I love you", she said playing with his ego.
She made herself believe that she was supposed to love her husband. She maintained that effortlessly.

He smiled. "One day you will know what I said was always right". He whispered, "I can feel it, and I am not a fool."

"And one day you will know you sinned by doubting your wife", she spoke, introspectingly ignoring his comments.


He was a nemesis of fate. Ed walked towards Lynn as he realised she was at the coffee table waiting for him.

"Did your kind and rich husband blabber again", he almost made an onomatopoeia.

She laughed. He was in his usual faded denim jacket, with unkempt hair and beard. He smoked while she ran her fingers over the rim of the coffee mug.

"Yes, he did. He has ideas that I am in love with you", she related.

"Are you?", he asked.

"I don't know", she replied.

Let's get drunk tonight. You will feel better. She smiled and spoke, mellifluously, "What if he finds out!"

He laughed, "Being committed, they say is one thing, being scared of the partner is another."

That night, they got drunk, to plunge into a supposed land of freedom and bliss, to be carefree of all blames and tensions. The high that alcohol gives, can never be compared to that of an orgasm, but they preferred former to follow the latter.

That night she realised, her husband was right.


Where women are a portrayed to be woebegone, men simply cash upon serendipity.

For both men, they had their life in place, and a woman, this time, had sinned, untowardly so.

Oh, the comfort - the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person - having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all right out, just as they are, chaff and grain together; certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and then with the breath of kindness blow the rest away. 
~Dinah Craik, A Life for a Life, 1859