Find me in my floral print pajama and a plain T-shirt. Notice how I pull up the silk curtains and let the warm air fill up my tiny haven on steamy summer nights. Watch me under the shimmering light that is coming up from the streets and notice how the loose strings of hair from my messy bun fall on my unbaked face and down my sweaty neck on a steamy summer night. Watch me as I bite my lips and dust the bed clean with my bare hands to make you a comfortable sitting space.
Welcome to my station. Pause here, now, for a few moments before your next train arrives. See how I paint the cracks on the walls of my life. Look around. Do you see that small corner between the dressing table and the window, where it seems that my butt will barely fit in? That’s where I sit down and let my mind drift to afar galaxies and think of the possibilities of the existence of a land of lilliputs and how many dimensions Voyager-1 might have crossed by now- does it feel very lonely sometimes?
Sometimes I think of you, too, until my face reddens with shyness and then my eyes become hollow as I take a leap of million seconds of lifetime left behind in silence. I brush off the tiny flakes of memories floating carelessly in my heart and crush them underneath my feet creating yet another void in time- will you ever care to know what’s on the other side of my event horizons?
Then go through my diaries with which I sat down on starry nights and wrote pages after pages about how I couldn’t get enough of your smile. Press your fingers on the soaring turns of letters with which I proclaimed how I’d always be by your side.
Pull out that photograph. Do you see the faded dots of tears all over your face? Can you count the number of dots or how many times each dot was remade on that photograph? Stop. Your train has arrived. What my swift hands have written to you with love and without love will never find an escape through your tongue.
Will you remember how on a steamy summer night I caught your fragrance in the air? Unfair, isn’t it, how the silence weighs so much on the flurry of forgotten times? You may leave now. Perhaps, someday soon, I will hop on another train of thought, hoping against my mind that it leads to you.