Friday, December 26, 2008

Helplessness


A more profound winter had set in the late December air. She could feel the specks of an occasional chill on the dark bare of her skin as she stood anticipating at the window. She loved the way the subtleties of the wind broke through her fresh from the bath skin.
The congealed ends of her wet hair pricked her back with a sweet pain, forming small rivulets that threaded southwards in a lazy motion. She wanted to make herself a hot mug of coffee to complement the unusually cold December evening but the butterflies inside her bosom had begun to have a paralyzing effect.
She stood there a little more while, fleeting thoughts of childhood crossing her mind as she drew circles of water with her finger until they vanished in the dry of the chill. Subconsciously, she tried to remember every cold December evening of her life, some stored away for the right reasons, others for the wrong. They kept coming to her like the wind who’s provenance was full of uncertainty. A cold December of heartache, a cold December of triumphs.
It took a sudden eruption of goosebumps for her to realize her nakedness. The limpid half moon proposed an advancing evening. The whiteness of the air becoming evident with each passing batch of chill. The butterflies at the brim of her mouth now.
She loved to daub strawberry milk on her skin in the winters. The smell of strawberries prodded the memory of last winter’s song in her mind. She hummed it, smearing herself lovingly with the essence of bypassed memories. When she was done, she admired her body in the mirror, despite the million flaws she could have otherwise enumerated.
She pried upon the clock again, feeling uneasy this time, but making sure she hid it, like she always did. Like she were watched. She wondered how hard it would be to cry or how easy it would be to love. She always felt inept at both. Maybe that is why she could not contain a wait inside her. The armor she built all these years by meticulously denying her heart all those feelings that she saw in those maudlin movies (which she loved) was beginning to wear off at the sides. She wanted to count those years, but they seemed too many, more than the number of emotions she had successfully (?) deflected until this cold December evening.
She felt more naked now. She thought she will cry but she did’nt. She thought she will love but she did’nt. Maybe she could’nt. She clothed herself quickly in an attempt to cover her incapability, not her nakedness.
She carried on in the solitude of her vacuum, like she always had.

art title - naked woman, expressionism
artiste - Randall
url - http://www.webnetdesign.com/randallartgallery/images/others/woman.jpg

6 comments:

Happy Phantom said...

that was a fuckin' masterpiece.....get it published...paint it somewhere....carve it in stone..because I don't think u or anyone else can get better than this......I am not being discouraging.....but I am just trying to draw a line so that you can blow past it......Lovely writing, friend! I love it more than I love you....

Praju said...

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies

Praju said...

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies

Rahul said...

2.30 in the night. I would have been in a deep slumber but thanks to your posts, I'm wide awake! Simply Exemplary!!!

Rahul said...

2.30 in the night and I'm wide awake reading your posts! Your writing is Exemplary!!!

sorcerer said...

Thank you! glad you liked. Would love to hear more feedback