That was the point where my thoughts began to collide, when the hot flames of passion clashed with the frozen reality. I did not want to experience what I had no power over; I wanted to be bathed with the tenderness of an illusion, even if it were temporary.
What has become of me? What madness of a miracle would bind the two of us together? It was just an illusion, a dream..
Who judges whether or not a person loves another more, or vice versa? Who defines love? It had always been asked but never answered.
The battle waged between heart and mind. I had gone through incomprehensible pain as I lived through what my heart has decided. I had enjoyed the ecstasy of emotions that followed. But at what price?
Why does sadness follow our hours of happiness? Why is it that when we are happy, we love the little moments of passed sadness and irony? Is it because we want to regret and dwell endlessly on thoughts that should have been forgotten?
Why would I find my sadness in my cause of happiness? A piano had brought happiness… why would fate orchestrate it so that it becomes a melancholy note? I thought without resolution. I did not want to admit to a destiny that could be moulded. I refused to let the blasphemy that is fate decide on my behalf.
But it was nonchalant to my desires. If I had decided to change my fate, then my fate was to change it. There was no escape from this paradox.
That wretched chair at the balcony, the sky. My eyes wandered across her apartment, scanning shadows through windows. I had to see her, even if I were to stay up till the dawn. I had always thought that I had made the wrong choices by giving up.
But is it not through these wrong choices, that a person becomes right? How many wrongs have I done! What makes a man other than his mistakes, and his admittance and commitment to make them right? What would a man accomplish in life if it were not for these mistakes?
The hours passed, and I slept with these thoughts a pillow for my head, the sky my blanket, the silence my guardian angel.
Dreams, again. She was playing the piano and did not look at me, and seemed indifferent to my presence. I was unable to move or speak. I felt as though I were a ghost observing her fingers dance across the piano keys. She never turned her head, but her physical proximity troubled me. My dream denied me any freedom and will. It would not allow my heart to love her and be close to her; to feel her face, to look her in the eyes, to breathe her breath.
I found myself in a room lit by the moon, my love on her bed, breathing softly as she slept. What could she have been dreaming, then? What could she have been thinking as she surrendered to sleep? Had she thought of me, had she thought of what I had felt? Were her heart and mind duelling as well?
She lay bathed in the dim moonlight, rendering her a magnificent creature in the night.
Why do we watch our loved one sleep? What makes sleep a weakness in a lover’s heart? Do we find peace in sleep? Is an escape from the pain we harvest in our waking hours? Or is it the tender tranquillity that is exhaled from a sleeping body?
She slowly faded away into the darkness, and I remained alone for what was left of the night.