4:17 pm, July 27
Summer has faded fast this year. Flan-like clouds hang disturbingly low. I miss the amaltas with their french grape like blooms- mellow yellow hanging from weak boughs. Along telegraph lines, weeds form 2D hills, flat triangles half-folded. I miss the colors of sunsets. Sometimes there are rainbows. Sometimes smooth slate-grey darkness. Twice a day, up-down, I travel 40 kms in trains full with callous chatter. And friendless eyes. The petrichor is gone. My earth smells of exhausted orgasms.
Slowly the clouds scatter. And mass anew. I try finding their destinations, try mapping their blood flow. I think of nights I can’t sleep; nights, when the moon is all holed up in the womb of the sky and 60s music shiver in empty coffee mugs. Mirrors stare with passive reluctance. Rivers well up with tears. Railway tracks run with stifled abandon. And the land stretches. Far and farther, threading through reeds and little songs. I have forgotten the color of hyacinths. Or the burning lick of the sun.
You never said you love me. I never assumed you did. The earth tilts and falls away. And dragonflies fish light with their wings. Everything is atoms and sinusoids and echoes- all the strange things they talk of in class. I am left thinking of all the seconds our eyes met. It rains. And I am left alone.
You are the secret I kept hiding beneath my pillow since I was 14. All the wishes, all the shooting stars that I gathered up, all the heartbeats, all the sighs, whispers everything. Even after you left. Even now when hopes have metamorphosed to pinned butterflies.