Bohemian rhapsody

She lays there. All bronzed. Silences can speak a lot.

Do you not feel like playing with me anymore? Is this change necessary after all these years? Do you not remember how we played all those winters ago, even as tears ran down your cheek? Take me in your arms again, even if it lasts just one night. One time more.


The story of their first meeting was like any other. He was visiting a friend. In the brown walnut-y comfort of his parlor, they sat conversing. He looked over his shoulder, and there she was.

You eyes gazed at me, and I saw how you held your tea cup. Radio 4 played in the background and after a few longing glances, you finally walked up to me.
Do you believe in such a thing as love at first sight?

And so they met and held each other tight the very first time. They almost seemed to belong. He did not care how she was related to his friend. It felt so right. That happens to people, doesn’t it, when your heart tells you it is just right.

Your fingers touched me. On and off. The warmth from the tea cup still lingered. I remember being held to your chest, so close, that I could hear your heart beat, and you trying to match mine.

Boyhood slowly walked away, school was done. Work required a lot of travel. And he did not believe in long distance. She always went with him. Through all those cities and music that filled their lives, through those fleeting moments where you think life is just one big jet plane.

I never got mad you for taking me through all that. Not even when you spilt wine on me. I loved the way cared. Like the time I had that buzz? You did not leave my side. But do you know what I like most?
The smell of a fresh cotton shirt on you.

So life takes you through all these moments, filling you with all these emotions. Emotions are not always black and white. There are shades of grey. Fleeting moments where you feel a little bit of this and that.

I thought you are giving up on me. Men do that these days, I hear. Giving up for a newer, sleeker model. But not you.
You picked me up again today. And I stare at your beautiful face, sitting at your feet. You have aged well. Your fingers are so ginger, when you pick me up from my box.

He is sipping his coffee, eyes ruminating about some music notes and a faint tune plays on his lips.
The unmistakable red mark from holding a violin is on his chin.