HAND-IN-HAND

I burned. I had seven different reasons to not wear a shirt that night, all from distinct parts on my upper body, but I did wear one eventually. Indigo, with dark-blue patterns not keenly observed because I wore it. And I wore it not for the design, or at least not just for the design, although wearing something good only makes me feel more reassured of myself; neither for the occasion, for I hardly connected with the festivity and nor did I attempt to. I wore it for you because you’ve always liked being flattered, as much as I’ve believed the act to be completely non-negative on my part; because I knew that you’d wear better, for although this summer could prove to be seasonally indelible with its effects, I knew nothing can ever touch the way you present yourself. And I wore it to avoid anomaly.

“Everyone is unfortunate.”

“Why?”

“Because everyone doesn’t have you for tonight.”

You laughed the same limited laugh you laugh all the time. Like you’d never let go of the whole of it, never philanthropic, always selfish. I wonder why you differ in your silence and your fury.

“Why are you with me?”

“Because you mind me drinking, and I don’t want to.”

“And I wouldn’t tempt you?”

“I would drink it then.”

The smile. You reminded me that you’ve never really needed your lips to smile. Your eyebrows: Those were all you needed, the shapes they would take only to be adorned, reinforced by the shine from beneath them. I’ve scoffed at the moon because of you. She can never burn by sight.

“But it’s pointless, though. You’d always be the addict.”

“Even in full control?”

“Especially in full control. Because there’s nothing more absurd than that that can be said.”

“Can you say it in a better way?”

“Should I?”

The tray just passed us, and I remembered that you didn’t need etiquette at places like these, that you could always get away with what you wanted, as long as you took it from someone who can never afford it, because he would never be able to afford the consequences of denying either. A glass for you and a glass for me as the ambient went numb, its music morphing to our own, what we rejoice, rather than the drawls of contemporary gangster Hip-Hop. 'Things behind the sun'. Nick Drake.

“Toast to us.”

“Cheers.”

Elbows intertwined, we raised the glasses to our lips and downed it all in one shot. I felt the liquid trickle down my chin and flow, making its way along the patterns on my shirt, drenching it as it passed, not making its way to the welcome ground, eventually halting at my belt-strap. My glass then slipped from my hand, for I was never known for the strength of my grip but rather for the weakness of it. A chest that could never assist to stop the fall and a pair of knees that only worked late made shards out of it. The handle sank cozily to the earth, a flag-post of sorts, and the pieces minced found their places at notches on the bottom of my shoe. And I felt thankful that I wore them.

I didn’t wake up, even then.

You being here, who was I kidding? I was never the one you looked out for, and that’s because you never looked out for anyone anyway. Neither was I a ‘nobody’ enough to fill a void with the void staying a void even after I’m done filling it. You’re a world on your own, and I guess I’m not ‘him’ to fail to see that. Because that was what I found in you, in the first place. But it still burned, you know, there’s no return to bliss, there’s no return to the ignorance that constituted it: An indelible marker-stain on whiteboard mind. And it still burned, because that was my first time.

I tried to not look into your tear-stained eyes, those rainclouds, as you tried to not look anywhere else but into mine. I took your hand, I filled the rightful slots where my fingers should have been and we made some warmth, and that made me snort my smile. Someone had told me the Sun would die sometime, that we would cease to exist some day, that doom needn’t be ‘spelt’ because it ‘is’ and that it only needed time to mature: Time that’s probably ‘beyond’ you and me. Ironical.

I could burn some suns, with you. And you would save the world, just as you’ve been doing all the while. Who needs ‘us’, when there’s you and me and the harmony that’s required?