"As if my blood is lying spilled somewhere..away from me.. But I know it is mine. I carry it in my conscience as it carries me in its essence. I may never see it again but its mine, mine! Pragmatic me lashes out again. The lover retaliates. Why does reality even happen when the 'unreal' could be so beautiful? Even in our silence we seem to have shared. Even in our pact not to talk is something dear to me. For even in that we partake in something. You would love to get drenched in me. I'll make sure you do."
"You are! Oh you are! Is it just me or can others sense it too? Can't say I know you. Can't say if it would last. Might just all wither away like the most beautiful flower. But thank you for showing to me that it exists. However small the moment..however frail to even last. It was reality you know..when it was most not. And this is but a smidgen of it. All of it. A pretension. A pretension and a shadow. It is not you who lacks. It's me. It's not your years that came in between. It's mine! Oh can't you see? Won't you see? Won't you agree with me? Let me go for now. And do let me come back once. Let me grow up a bit. Let me fail first. This cruel age should know. I will wait to fail. I will pray to fail. So I may know. So I may know."
This piece might not matter now or might not be understood or worse still - might just be. For more reasons than one. It's like a crumpled red rose perhaps..tucked in between old rusty yellow leaves of an old hardbound. While placing it back on the stack from where I pulled it out, I thought I would just as well post the contents.
These words here are most precious to me.