There’s this reverie that my mind loves to splurge on. Rooftop. 1 am. A starry night sky. On a very tall building, but there are no specific dimensions, because it’s a figment of my imagination. There’s just this zone of serenity and bliss, nothing concrete. No! Why must we always look for numbers and figures to define everything we know? I could count the tranquil beats of your heart and tell that we have a plenty more till our little forever. And the breeze tickles our skin, don’t you just love the sweet chill of this breeze on a summer night? You can’t reckon the way it holds sway over the hush of the night. There’s no number for that, it’s like looking at your eyes and trying to tell how beautiful they are.
Do you have any idea that how intensely your eyes pierce into my soul? Can I describe that? I hope someday they find a better word because all the synonyms of beautiful are too vague for the way you make me feel.
We’re floating on a cloud, that’s what it feels like when you’re lying next to me. It’s like walking on water, when you think about it too often, the waves caressing your feet keeping you afloat. A meticulous sense of calm in a menacing state of high.
A strand of auburn hair laying peacefully on my forehead and you slide it aside with your soft, warm hands. They make me believe in the superstition that loyal people have warm hands. You make me believe in the superstition called love. The way your touch scintillates and sedates me all the same. It’s like the ebb and flow of waves in a high spirited river. You make me feel alive and full of colours, like a rainbow ending in a pot of gold. And when you kiss me, it’s like the waves breaking at the banks in sweet submission. You heal me and then you break me a million times, like a phoenix reborn out of ashes. And nothing but pure ecstasy driving out everything else.
But these words don’t do any justice to what I feel in my reverie. The promise of a young blossom on a spring morning, the fulfilling feeling of the soil when it’s drenched to the core after a day of heavy rain. No words would do justice, no numbers would mark the value of that beautiful daydream. And maybe that’s why it’s so beautiful.