“Are you sleepy?” She’d asked, but if only I could’ve said the truth. I was feeling sleepy, period. But more than that, there was this crave within me, a desire to know her more. And while I was trying to makeup for the lost time, sleep had become the common sacrifice.
“If you’re sleepy, we could leave it here for tonight.” But no, I didn’t want to. I wished to listen to her voice more, there was a soothing comfort in it that I wished to carve into my memory. But hers was a very peculiar pitch.
She could be sweet as a dark dark Belgium chocolate, but also rude like a mean neat. She could pack a wide vibrant punch and also a glare that could make you fall for her more. You could be lost in her expressions and still find moments to cherishfrom within that. Like the way she reverted her lips sideways, or the way she would stare at you and smile the most honest smile you’ve ever seen. Even when only the voices reached you, you could imagine the rest of her being the most weird self that she could be.
“We could talk tomorrow more.” But is there ever another tomorrow, like the continuation of today? Isn’t it always a fresh new start, like a new perspective over the same scenery? And if that’s so, how can I ever look at the night the same way! “You could wake me up if you get up earlier.” And I could feel an excitement in that, but my disappointment was overcrowding anything else. It’s not like I hated the idea, heck I loved it. But the thought of sleeping over that feeling and the fear of not feeling the same again haunted me.
It’s like taking the last bite of your favorite dish, you know that it would end when you guide it for the last time, and so you drag it for as long as you could. And she wasn’t that favorite dish, she was the expression that always tags along to make me feel beautiful. And I wanted to keep feeling that. I desired to keep feeling it.
But I couldn’t say any of it. “Why aren’t you saying anything?” Because I’m not sure what you want. We haven’t talked about that, another entry in my list. But every time her voice echoes through the phone, everything I’d thought of disperses away, making me sway from any direction that I’d set. And the irony is that when this moment of separation comes close, it all comes back, silently, crouching into my thoughts like a ghost.
“Are you sleepy already?” And that gave me some hope, maybe because it felt like she wanted to talk too, even though the feeling was very minutely existential. But I was ready to take my chances, and so, I said no. It was the first time I said something in that silence, probably because I’d lost myself in that confusion. “I’m not.” I replied back, but a thought kept looping through me. A lie brings desolation. But they never said that it’s sometimes prettier and happier to lie and cheat and make her talk more. It’s like another scoop of the dish that mum had saved and is now serving you. Even though you’ve eaten your full, you would still want to have a go at that part.
Her presence was like that, that kind of addictive.
“You are.” When those words left her, I felt a kind of comfort that only love could impart you. That even though the idea of ending the night causes you pain, but the happiness that surrounds you is more than anything. “I guess we both are.” And both of us gave a smile, I could feel her happiness through the silent voices that traversed through the air. I believe she felt that peck too.
Isn’t it cute how the night stops feeling restless and more like a collage of ecstatic emotions?