As the wind blows, so do the flowers, pushing their fragrances. "Their messenger's here", they rejoice at thoughts of their spirits meeting their love. The odd thoughts went through his head as he imagined them talking out loud to him. The wait was not new, from both ends of the table, but this one made him think, much.
"I have not a messenger", he smirks, as he goes back to the days of wooing his love; a herculean task that it had been for him. The two shared an odd sense of being between them; his pensiveness when she chirped and vice versa. But what has come to trouble him more is the change; the change which he thought has come about only lately.
Between pensiveness and his petulance, not finding reasons they say, only adds layers.
Her delays these days got further shades, borrowing darkness from the night sky. Surprising indeed is that their confidante and more once lent the shades into it. After all, if not for it, whence would their meets have come from and it isn't helping now he wonders.
"Love only increased over time", he shakes his head as he fails to understand her lesser liking lately. "It can't be that way, can it?", he goes into his shell and self-doubt as he gets reminded of scars. To give him some credit, he did let her sort her affairs, as he stood by, learning each day to take unpleasant thoughts. And the entirety of it only added confusing layers into his thoughts.
There is something about fall leaves; unnoticed until a curious soul picks one up. And fall, he never thinks is a good time for them to meet, he always says, only he knowing why.
The shadows of the brain clouding, her shadow goes unnoticed; until she wraps around. This one wasn't new to the repertoire in any way, this was the first of steps in there. There is a certain knack in the woman in getting him to talk about unpleasant ones; or is it their kind' forte?
"We need to talk", she says, as his heart pounds, given all the clouds above and below. "I have a new friend", he gets curious, as she continues, "who gets me best these days".
His worst fears coming true, he wonders but without an emotion in response. "Is that also the reason why you like the dawn you always hated", he retorts, though mild.
She knows him to get to things wrapped in layers, so the direct one was amusing indeed. 'In a sense, but the other way around', she continues, as his confusion grows; much more than what he can take.
'You see the sallow face in your absence has decreased?', she questions, as he wonders why he brushed it off. He did observe its change over the months but rested it on her becoming strong. Little did he know, there were other reasons.
'The dawning sky is my new friend, dear', she says as she comes closer; 'someone who shares with me her pains'. He always knew of her ability to see beyond the seen, but this one is way more than it all.
'As she parts from her love, she pales, much like me when you leave. I cried the first day you left me, the second was more of it and so on until I dried up. And here's someone who pales every morning, until she breaks down as we rejoice calling it rain'. He has been rusty with it all, but this one hit the right nerve.
'I've found my friend in her dear, for when you aren't around, I share my laments with her. If you wondered, that is how I coped.'
For a man who puts his masks, what else is a nemesis but donning one which he calls diluted, and deluded. Of unstoppable forces and unmovable objects, the force seems the winner here.
"Will you teach our children to write good literature", he goes down on his knees, as I observe them in awe, pride, and pain. Zarathustra gleams moment; the absence of the priest and goose his happiness' foment. They've never cried about this, not even the happy kind, for they know where their cries lie.
Zarathustra smiles at me, the time for old men has come to leave. A distant glance comes by, as she switches her lips for her words, her canvas now his mouth. "Did you get over the geese?", Zarathustra asks trekking the Sils Maria. I smile, as our unspoken conversations go unbeknownst to people.
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