I was always telling him things, taking him places – pouring my soul out for him, almost torturing him time and again with my bitter-sweet impulsive emotional outbursts. All I asked of him was for him to be angry, or shocked or worried or guilty about the things I said or thought. I meant for him to be able to tell the things he felt, or feel the way I felt. I meant for him to feel something for me – just anything at all. No, his lucid insensitivity did not intimidate me one bit,not even for a second, for I was in love with his coldness too. His sheer lack of emotions infuriated my brimming youthful soul, for I perpetually carried hundreds of impalpable precipitations feelings inside me. But, despite his apparent indifference or his obvious lack of ability to look through my soul, he was breaking me into pieces.
With him, I knew I was content. But to him, I was also loosing a little bit of myself, every day. I could spend hours with him and not speak one word, deep down, silently preparing myself to melt into his layers one day without warning. In my silence, he tamed me with his ferociousness. He would sway past my frame coarsely, taunting me, almost provoking me into an awkward smile. When I lost it, he disciplined me with his infuriating indifference. I, enraged and annoyed, threw stones at him, spit at him, crushed his trunk, and when I was done, I fell to his feet, in pieces. He would just let me be, let me bleed and wail, all he had to do was to to send his arms to pet around my skin for a while, or hum a feeble tune.In seconds, I forgave him and went back to being in the kind of literate, passionate, unconditional love again.
For he himself was nothing short of an enigma, an embellishment of contrasts, crafted in a mysteriously juicy method. He was the most free-spirited, insolent, angry, impatient thing I had ever known. And I, only I saw that beneath the layers of mischief and mystery, there was a layer no one knew about. A layer of emptiness – an insatiable void. That was the catch, that I knew too much. Or I thought I did, from all that I heard and imagined – I just knew that he submerged his deepest of deepest desires into a tiny cave hidden somewhere deep underneath his bodily layers.
I wanted to get there. There, right there, was the home I wanted to live in. I wanted to excavate – excavate as further as I can to understand him more- to make sense of longings and despairs and pleasures. That had become my only obsession and my deepest fascination. I alone wanted to be the one who understands his being, the one who reads his mind, the one who he came back to after an ugly fight.
But he had been in love before, millions of times before, but that did not upset me. There was no way I could give him any of the earthly pleasures, I wasn’t even worth all of it. Yet, it upset me so much, that he returned to every woman who crawled back to him. He sheltered them too, even at odd hours of the day. I was foolish to imagine that he could be exclusively my very own. I had to start thinking of ways to push him away from my memory.
And somewhere along the way, I fell out of place, I fell out of my mind, I fell way from him. And being young and caught up in my own lecherous ways, I distanced myself with what I was made of. I missed out on our visits, on our intimacy, on our yearning.I was lost and I strayed further away, feeding my soul of all it craved for. But it did upset me that you did not come for me, or send for me or watch out for me. Some strangers I met, told me stories of you, brought me the scent of your being and sought me guilty for letting you go.
Some nights, I stayed awake. Thinking of you,of the way your moved around, of your warmth, of your smell and of all those lives who fell for your charm. They were the only things that I knew and I realized how much in awe I was, that in the process of rejuvenating my love for him, I was setting fire to myself.
I knew I had failed him. I had failed him in more ways than one. I failed myself and my only conscience. I had been running away from him, I was running away from the only place I could call home. I was running away from all that I ever wanted. Indeed, I thought I was better off without him, better off without the eccentricities and vulnerabilities, without the pain and passion. But, deep down, I knew that if there was a place I would return to – It had to be always inside you.
I could not wait any longer. I stood up and walked. Walked for hours and days, and now I am there, at his mercy. I had come back to him, wounded, sobbing and weak begging him to take me back. I had come back.
I was talking to him now, pleading, begging for a chance at redemption.
“Now you could throw me out or take me in, but know that I will always come back.” I started.
“Have pity, my sea, have me back.”
I was speaking these words and without waiting for him, I started walking into his depths , into the moist depths I had always dreamed of. I couldn’t make out if his overpowering waves were trying to push me aside or pull me along to the culmination. I did not know if he was happy about my forceful advancement into his layers. It was not painful for I was ecstatic, creeping down into his depths in awe ,waiting for the moment we would become one. I knew it would take a long time, and I might not even remember how it felt, but this was a moment. This was the moment I had longed for in years, this was the ultimate high I needed, my final orgasm.
Tell me now, all of you. I knew you were watching us in our final moments of intricate intimacy? Some of you, crying for help,calling out for me, wailing, sending troops in search of me. But, didn’t you see my love, and his, what did you miss? Do you not see that this place, where I am now, floating and drifting with the undercurrents of his enormous being, is the only place I can be happy and content?