“It’ll pass.”
To her brutal confession he replies.
His lips quivering in protest, baffled by the words they are forced to form.
His wayward eyes betraying him, bleeding the colour of his aching love for her,
His heart all the while swimming against the course of this scorching current of pain right under his skin,
The lustrous gleam of its plasma piercing his skin, tampering with its integral opacity,
His body under the constant threat of tearing itself open, pouring out what not,
His hands fighting off that persistent wanting to perch themselves on hers,
His fingers trembling to their bones,
All ten of them uncertain of which one to blame for letting go of her.
“It’ll pass.”
How painfully dismissive a thought.
Denigrating such a rare feeling just to drag it along life’s mundane streets,
To walk away from that one point of sanity that helps one to make sense of the frightening absurdity all around,
Such a crime that humans assume themselves to be capable of translating such rattling thoughts into action,
Seriously, who do we think we are?
Just a mere speck in the existence of the universe and you dare to expect to walk out in one piece after confronting such a choice?
“It’ll pass.”
That helpless-smile-like-smirky-twist-of-lips just before he walks away has in it all,
Can’t even imagine how those teeny legs of his managed to carry his body away from that bus-shelter that I hate,
No matter how hard they tried to make it aesthetically pleasing, that scene and everything associated with it remains awful to me,
Maybe they never intended to please, they just wanted it to be awful,
Maybe they just wanted us to bathe in its awfulness,
Let’s.