Thursday, June 6, 2013

Unfinished conversations

She wants to hold on to me like unfinished conversations, he thought. But those conversations are lost when the threads which bind them have been forgotten, new meanings creep in the midst as past slowly gathers itself in the present.Slowly you repeat the beginnings in your mind, day after day, hour after hour, as if in a mere repetition the conversation will come to life, you slowly gather her shadow and put it in the back of the pocket or an unread book, the book when it is opened, it is not the same page and the shadow slowly eases past the last remembered light...all the practiced phrases become a futile attempt to capture the moment and you slowly lose the company of long was he thinking like this? the cigarette he held in his hand was long burnt and he was lucky this time that it dint burn his fingers as he often used to do, the ashes had drifted on the open book sensing a wind behind which flapped its dog eared pages...the glass on the table had begun to form rings around its base and at the rim where his lips touched the wine of the last night, the sediments settling down as the left over wine had evaporated in the burning heat of the was unusual for this time of the year to have so much sun, yet the clouds alternated everyday as if keeping their promise with a tired sleepy narrow alley where he used to live...the plate on the table reminded him of the food he had cooked the day before, pieces of the yolk of the egg still sticking to it and the salt strewn around the blue plate as mocking stars on a moonless night.....

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