.............

There is so much left unsaid.
Telling it all, would be like scraping a wound that has partly congealed. Like poking it with a needle until you scream out in anguish. I had conveniently clogged my escape vent so that I did not have to express myself anymore.
Words unceremoniously discarded me and ended it all. It pushed me from the terrace-top when I was precariously positioned on the edge. I was suspended in mid-air for a brief instant and then I was hurtling towards the swirling mass of the black bottom less sea. The last view of the bright horizon and the deluded hope of starting all over again smothered me.
I remember peering, half-hidden through the curtains. Baba reclining on the arm-chair, engrossed in a musty black hard bound book. I remember taking a tentative step forward and finally yielding to my curiousity…and then him tenderly placing me on his lap, reciting Whitman.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

I was light and weightless then. His voice filled up my senses. I would willingly drown in that voice again and again.
My romantic relationship with Words had already started unknown to me. I was small and incapable of handling such an explosive relationship. It was strenuous at first but with years and more practice, we opened up to each other and conveniently understood each other’s needs. It was a relationship out of choice and not compulsion which made all the difference. Wordlessly we forged a bond that transcended materialistic ties.
All this abruptly ended one day. No amount of persuasion or rhetoric could rekindle that same passion once again.
I retaliated even more ruthlessly. I pierced the Words brutally and shoved it down a tin cylinder. I could feel the Life ebbing and the Words disintegrating. The necessity to express shall not rise again.
Hurt, bruised and angry I retreated in my dark room forever searching for my Words.
I was wrong. I was forever trying to escape but now I don’t intend to run any longer. Happiness lies in acceptance.

I am willing to give this love affair a second chance and let my Words breathe again.