....
pretty eyed and pirate smile,
I hope I will marry a music man
....
Time and time again, something or somebody or both, tutored me to shelve them all. My world of perfect other half. Where faces and images had no prominence, only little instances held the key, in the minute gestures and caresses lay that world of mine. The search for that very single other piece of the jigsaw puzzle, that traces the same contours with those complementing curves, covering up the unfinished edges, and making the story complete – picture perfect.
The one that tinkled in my dreams, like a firefly, twinkling in an instant and gone the next, swerving back in and winking at me, at my hand’s reach the very next. Dreams that teamed with the excitement of the find, and blurred with the realization of a false hint, and yet again, lit with a new hope.
Of the one, who will walk into my life, that unexpected hour of the day, and take me as his, without asking, without even me knowing, without any pretence..
Who will kiss away my infinite sorries and sadness when I have done some non – sensical stupidity..
Who will sense the meaning of my sometimes seemingly meaningless lines and will tell me that he understands, that he can see, and that he senses that which even I was so struggling to portray..
Who will smile fondly and watch me when I try to make that portrait of his, drawing with my inept hands, getting those lines of his mouth incorrect and still stubbornly struggling with my pencils..
Who will put that first foot into the water, and give me his hand, so that we would walk hand in hand, barefoot, slow and savouring the salt smell of the beach wind..
Who will see me when I lie there simply, cuddled up on the bed, and then come and wrap himself around me, to remind me how perfectly our bodies spoon each other, and give me that ultimate peace and safety in the world..
Who will pull me into that shower, to play with each other until we both get tired of the water..
Who will carry my backpack on top of his own for that sec, when I get too tired doing the trecking..
Who will let me read him those favourite lines of mine, and try to fathom the meaning and my fondness for it, even when he doesnt like it the least..
Who will suggest me that book and offer to take me to that bookshop when I say it is a boring evening ..
Who will ask for the second para, when I sing to him at night that favourite song, with a sore-throat, even when I sound terrifyingly out of sync..
Who will laugh lovingly at my childish tears when I cut my finger, while feverishly chopping away those vegetables, making him his favourite dish of the day..
Who will understand my silly and irrational and childish love, and my fear of separation, and my need of wanting to be belonged..
Who will say that he wants me, no matter what, to the end of the days..
Who will not scold me when I let our kids draw their l’l rabbit and the turtle on the walls, and when I'll help them at it by drawing the grass and the forest..
Who will still have us go on for those long walks, that I so passionately love and hold on to, for comfort, and purity of thought, and for the romance, into the dead of the night, or to a silence between the trees, or somewhere with just us, and the world silent around..
Who will know that desire and longing of mine to love and caress every single cell of him, and my wanting to be loved like never before..
Who will play our favourite games together with me, and then teach them to our kids, with the same fondness of a playmate..
Who will sing to me when I so want to hear his voice, even with those made up lines when he forgets the lyrics, and a bad
rhythm..
Who will love me more for asking him to come back home, when he is out on his work, knowing that I'll love, for ever and ever with a never ending longing..
Who will grow old with me, and sit with each other, smiling at the other one’s wrinkled face and to let that beautiful silence that descends between us, to do the talking, to say that it had been perfect, the years together..
....
to come and take me to my world of perfection.
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