Beauty Seen is Never Lost

I know,
that I wont ever come across such a place in this world- in here, where things exist with reason, where things are bricks upon bricks of science and logic, where things materialize merely based on the dependence of being real. It’s no place for us to meet, it’s no place for you to be – not here, no.
But if there was such a place, where miracles swift by like morning birds; where time is a thread we weave into sweaters and quilts; where dreams become people, and people are a palette of colors- If there was such a place, somewhere on the fringes of this life we stand on, I’d meet you there.
But then again, what words would I give you after all this time?
Maybe, I’d tell you about that page I memorized from “The perks of being a wallflower”; and how lines slipped off the paper and became phantoms; ones that still hover somewhere inside of me. Yes, I’d tell you about it. Maybe, I’d tell you about that Eid day, where for a single,magical,infinite moment, we were all intertwined; as if that bukhoor-scented living room, that laughter resonating from Grandma’s sorrowful soul, and that clinking sound of bicycle bells coming from outdoors, had made everything around us; absolutely weightless. Yes, I’d tell you about it. Maybe, I’d tell you about your brother, about the moment he became somebody’s someone; somebody’s everything; and how his weary eyes, sparked with unshed tears, when he heard the words “ You’ve got a son”. Yes, I’d tell you about it. Maybe, I’d tell you about that song I accidently heard on the radio that day, and how it’s unusual lyrics drifted around me for days; leaving me breathless, only to discover in the end, that I had simply misheard it. Yes, I’d tell you about that. Maybe, I’d tell you about that day, when I boarded a plane alone, with a head filled with somewhere and a heart swollen with tiny specks of achievement. Yes, I’d tell you about it. Maybe I’d tell you about my other family, and how they’re made of ever lasting star-matter; glistening eternally over me, holding my seams together. Yes, I’d tell you about them.
And Maybe, I’d tell you about tears, about vanilla-scented fabrics, beauty salons, frilly-handwritings, furniture stores, newborns tucked in strollers, heels, money jars, branded handbags, life-sized paintings, nachos left on cinema seats, musicals, desserts, songs, key chains, belgian chocolate, morning buffets, animated screensavers, pink hallways, and an endless string of days. I’d tell you about it all. Yes.
And maybe, I’d tell you nothing at all.
I’d just touch your face. Trace it with my fingertips.
Put my ears against your chest; listen to that heart of yours; beat again.
Just that.
Only that.
Once more.
Yes, just that.

Posted by Diddlina at 6:44 PM