It is 1 a.m., Saturday, 4 hours to the break of dawn. Sitting outside in the porch, I am tapping my phone keys repeatedly, sending a text message to a fellow being. Every minute, I glance at the window that faces me and revert to what I am doing. A silhouette appears to my sight, staring out of the window, and then disappears. There is light in the room that diminishes every passing minute and lights the room as weakly as possible; little bit of what light is left, illuminates the face, the dainty countenance.
A strong essence of jasmines drifts through the cold, eerie, silent moonlit night.
This is where it starts..
The beautiful black mirage and I, stay as wide asunder as the moon and the stars. Its line of vision rests or hovers occasionally wherever it wants, whenever it wants to, on whatever it wants to..
I know that it can be on me, or not…it just stares outside, in the shadow of its black cascades.
I lower my gaze and look at my phone that lights my face. I twist my cranial encasing again to notice that the other light in the room is on and a distorted, colourful symmetry is visible through the window glass. Illusive flashes cover my eyes and dance in symmetry with my thoughts, maybe not…
I am black, dipped in charcoal and so is she.
My vision is stuck and I am blinded, and my fingers brace the scars on my heart, gracefully and effortlessly, and construct each one of them, one by one and then find a comfort in their depths. Before I detach myself, the door opens and a crack of artificial light precedes the drama, forcibly dragging me, scuffing through the alleys of my scarred memories. The faint essence of jasmines gets intense..
I am black, dipped in moonlight but she is coloured, too colourful for darkness.
She, with a beauty of the most uncommon countenance, long black hair neatly falling on both sides of her body, a never ending length, steps out and walks towards me. My heart pounds faster than I can hold it down, my fingers go deeper into my scars, deeper every fraction of a moment she takes in planting her moves. The embodiment grows every moment while her shadow seems shorter as she takes her steps, steps with an assumed authority of a devil’s angel; as black as a charred carcass of jarred emotions.
She comes too close and I find myself lost, frozen in my thoughts and place.
The jasmine scent is not a scent anymore. It chokes my senses and suffocates my nasal passages. The flashes dissolve and my eyes blink uncontrollably. She holds my head calmly in her hands and slowly presses it against her body.
this is dedicated to my pretty (close to beautiful) neighbour, N.
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