Walking along the dirty path, crest fallen and jaded with leaves and debris, all he could see was the distant trees and street lamps. However sombre the mood may be at where he was, he knew, that was where he wanted to be. For in your company, he basked in the little things. He could hear your voice chattering away. You are talking about your life and your aspirations. Elaborating on what matters to you most, your ideals and principles. He felt proud that you held on to them with such conviction, that it matched his own thoughts. Now, what matters to you, shall matter to him. But his head is muddled all of a sudden. His mind isn’t registering your words. He seems perturbed, an overwhelming sense of discomposure. Seemingly what distracted him was an odour. No, not an odour, but a scent. Your perfume is intoxicating his mind and confusing his senses. Seems like morning amongst lilies but it’s not. Why the illusion? Now he cannot concentrate on what you’re saying completely. He musters a smile, looking right at you. He knows your cheeks are burning. He knows you can sense his gaze looking right at you. You turn and ask him why he is staring at you. Your voice exuding all the innocence it could muster, eyes sparkling in the moonlight. But how does he say anything? How does he tell you that you fascinate him? How does he ask you if your skin is as soft as it looks? Or is it simply a hallucination. Is his mind betraying him? He wants to touch you, just so he knows he isn’t dreaming. He wants to hold you and know that he is in fact treading in that desolate place next to you and that is not a dream or his mind playing games on him. But he doesn’t want to seem primitive with his behaviour and hence brushes off the thought of saying anything silly or holding you for that matter. His answer to your question came with denial. That he wasn’t staring. “Crap!” he thought. Caught red-handed but yet why was it so difficult for him to tell you that he adores you. That he never wanted the night to end? He noticed you smile, and it only confused him further. “Why did she smile? What was it for? Did she take me seriously when I said no? Please don’t. I lied when I said I wasn’t staring. I really was gazing at you but that is only because I think you’re beautiful. I wasn’t staring, I just can’t take my eyes off you.” You carry on with your girlish chatter, the moon offering minimal yet substantial illumination. All that he needed to look at you, your face. The smiles continue.
As you both walk on he notices a board of some sort. He wonders what it is, momentarily losing his concentration on what you were saying again. He walks on to the structure and realises it was a panel that had the history of the place carved on it. He stops to read. History was always of interest to him. He read how the place was previously used in World War 2 as an operation ground for the allies. Getting lost in his own fantasy, you bring him back to earth by expressing your fear of standing in the darkness for so long. He smiles yet again, cheeks starting to ache, and wonders why you are afraid. It is a silent night but he is there, he knows he will not let you go. That he will keep you safe and out of harm’s way. You matter so much to him. He laughs and tells you how the panel caught his eye and evoked his interest. You jokingly call him bluff, that he did it on purpose just to let you stand in the dark and feel afraid. He knows that wasn’t his intention. He merely wanted to prolong the night for as long as he could just to be in your midst. He laughs along with you. Again, your eyes gaze into each other’s, laughter replaced by silence and the contagious smiles on each of your faces. Eyes filled with adoration, the tacit feeling of comfort and attraction undeniable amongst the sudden silence.
Walking along, you stumble into a poorly lit path. The only path that leads to the destination desired. Entering the darkness he could feel you getting closer. You body inching towards his as you both walk. There isn’t much chatter now. You’re not as excited and enthusiastic as before. Instead, you seem bothered about the darkness. He notices the change. Slowly he feels you move your hand under his arm and hook him close to you. He is lost for words. He can feel you. He can feel the heat from your body. Yes it is true. Your skin IS as soft as it looks. He wishes he could hold you closer. But how much closer? Your body was already pressing against his and your arm was already weaved with his and resting on his forearm. He had a beatific look washed across his face not concealing any ounce of ecstasy and would have stayed that way even if he was condemned a reprobate at that time. He asks you if you were fine. You tell him that you are afraid of the dark. Your cheek is pressing against his arm while his arm is entwined with yours. He likes you. He likes that childlike voice. He likes the fact that you are afraid of the dark. Because then he can be there for you whenever and wherever it is dark. He likes how your cheeks feel against his arm, your scent now overwhelming him, intoxicating him further. He likes how you cuddle up close to him and find that comfortable place in his arms. He holds his ground knowing that he cannot allow his primordial instincts get the better of him. He assures you that it’s going to be alright, that the path will soon come to an end. He assures you that there will be light very soon. That she will no longer need to feel afraid. He was right, as soon as he had said it, there was light at the end of the path. You slip your arm out of his. He tries to stop you from retreating. He wants to keep your hands locked with his. He feels as though someone ripped his clothes off. A sense of nudity, now that your body is no longer sheltering him. He felt cold, the chills of the night piercing through his skin. Where was the warmth he felt awhile ago? Where was the thump of the heart that was beating so close to his? The heart that beat as though it was his. He sees you walk next to him, apologising for the “irrational” act of holding him. He thinks in his head, ”Silly of you to apologise. Hold me again. Hold me close. Please don’t let go and neither will I.” You profusely apologise for your behaviour while he tells you that it was alright. That there is nothing to be apologetic about and that he did not mind. He wants you to be safe. He wants you to feel comforted. At that moment he felt like he could give you anything you wanted. He smiles at you yet again, looking into your eyes. And he knows you’re smiling as well, gazing into his. The question as to why the both of you cannot stop the smiles however, lingers for the remainder of the evening. It is evident though; that it is an intimation for what shall be beautiful and special henceforth.
As you both walk on he notices a board of some sort. He wonders what it is, momentarily losing his concentration on what you were saying again. He walks on to the structure and realises it was a panel that had the history of the place carved on it. He stops to read. History was always of interest to him. He read how the place was previously used in World War 2 as an operation ground for the allies. Getting lost in his own fantasy, you bring him back to earth by expressing your fear of standing in the darkness for so long. He smiles yet again, cheeks starting to ache, and wonders why you are afraid. It is a silent night but he is there, he knows he will not let you go. That he will keep you safe and out of harm’s way. You matter so much to him. He laughs and tells you how the panel caught his eye and evoked his interest. You jokingly call him bluff, that he did it on purpose just to let you stand in the dark and feel afraid. He knows that wasn’t his intention. He merely wanted to prolong the night for as long as he could just to be in your midst. He laughs along with you. Again, your eyes gaze into each other’s, laughter replaced by silence and the contagious smiles on each of your faces. Eyes filled with adoration, the tacit feeling of comfort and attraction undeniable amongst the sudden silence.
Walking along, you stumble into a poorly lit path. The only path that leads to the destination desired. Entering the darkness he could feel you getting closer. You body inching towards his as you both walk. There isn’t much chatter now. You’re not as excited and enthusiastic as before. Instead, you seem bothered about the darkness. He notices the change. Slowly he feels you move your hand under his arm and hook him close to you. He is lost for words. He can feel you. He can feel the heat from your body. Yes it is true. Your skin IS as soft as it looks. He wishes he could hold you closer. But how much closer? Your body was already pressing against his and your arm was already weaved with his and resting on his forearm. He had a beatific look washed across his face not concealing any ounce of ecstasy and would have stayed that way even if he was condemned a reprobate at that time. He asks you if you were fine. You tell him that you are afraid of the dark. Your cheek is pressing against his arm while his arm is entwined with yours. He likes you. He likes that childlike voice. He likes the fact that you are afraid of the dark. Because then he can be there for you whenever and wherever it is dark. He likes how your cheeks feel against his arm, your scent now overwhelming him, intoxicating him further. He likes how you cuddle up close to him and find that comfortable place in his arms. He holds his ground knowing that he cannot allow his primordial instincts get the better of him. He assures you that it’s going to be alright, that the path will soon come to an end. He assures you that there will be light very soon. That she will no longer need to feel afraid. He was right, as soon as he had said it, there was light at the end of the path. You slip your arm out of his. He tries to stop you from retreating. He wants to keep your hands locked with his. He feels as though someone ripped his clothes off. A sense of nudity, now that your body is no longer sheltering him. He felt cold, the chills of the night piercing through his skin. Where was the warmth he felt awhile ago? Where was the thump of the heart that was beating so close to his? The heart that beat as though it was his. He sees you walk next to him, apologising for the “irrational” act of holding him. He thinks in his head, ”Silly of you to apologise. Hold me again. Hold me close. Please don’t let go and neither will I.” You profusely apologise for your behaviour while he tells you that it was alright. That there is nothing to be apologetic about and that he did not mind. He wants you to be safe. He wants you to feel comforted. At that moment he felt like he could give you anything you wanted. He smiles at you yet again, looking into your eyes. And he knows you’re smiling as well, gazing into his. The question as to why the both of you cannot stop the smiles however, lingers for the remainder of the evening. It is evident though; that it is an intimation for what shall be beautiful and special henceforth.
.JPG)
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