The Bench

The bench lies empty now. It was occupied once, for a brief moment, though. That brief moment was an eternity. That brief moment was the last time I'd held her hand, with the facade that I had put on to hide what lay within, but without her knowing it.

Winter hadn't arrived yet. It was autumn slowly submitting itself to the coldness that lay ahead. Leaves were scattered helter-skelter and the rest were dripping down like incandescent rain pelting down on rough stones.

Dark brown ones- the leaves- dark, perhaps because they'd burnt for so long, and were just waiting to let go. A few of them fell at our feet, and I chose not to tread on them. For a few had also occupied the bench before we reached there, and I'd seen how mercilessly she'd used her purple scarf to nonchalantly brush them away.

I was scared of this gesture, for I knew, that very soon, I would let go too. I would let go of the mask that I couldn't fathom when I'd put on. A mask that would give me away, a mask that would be the folly to the bond I had built over seasons- over Novembers, over years.

I knew that I'd fall down too when that happens, like the leaf- burnt, consumed, wasted. Except that I was human; except that I would live on, I'd have to live on.

The evening was breezy, perfect for the hair she hardly bothered trying. She'd loved to be free, just like they were- kissing the wind as it passed by, but never holding on to it.

She'd dressed up too, and I chose to believe that it was for me. I smiled at her as she appeared from the gate. She smiled back, her lips glittering with something I couldn't immediately comprehend. I wanted to tease her, but the chivalry didn't come. I'd had enough of it.

The lips were smiling, the eyes weren't, as she landed on the bench with a gentle thud, too gentle to be noticed, too heavy to be ignored. She'd been weathering a storm herself, without having the slightest of ideas that another one was coming.

Our hands and our bodies were at whiskers, but they just had to be there, like they had been, forever. Except that I wanted to bridge the gap, wanted to mingle into those gaps and dissolve them.

I couldn't. So I chose to look at her, like I had done on each of the few evenings that I had the fate to spend with her. The golden locket adorning her neck stood out against her skin, and lunged into her neckline before disappearing into her bosom.

She wasn't breathing well. I could make that out from the way she looked into nothingness. I wanted to do something about it, like I always had, but couldn't.

The hourglass was only getting empty, and I tried to blabber and murmur- as much as I could, like I always had, with the woman being my witness- before my words dry up, and silence engulfs.

A child drew her attention, and her broadened lips drew mine. But they closed, soon. For some reason, I'd found the closed ones sexier. They were like those thick broad petals of bougainvillea, except a little less pink.

But now I wanted to kiss them, like I'd wanted to kiss on her moles, her neck, and everywhere else. I did all of it, albeit with a touch, when I placed my palm over hers- only for a second- to feel the coldness she couldn't express.

The bench had gone warm, perhaps the warmest it had felt for a long long time, and I, for those brief moments of eternity, felt the same.

The warmth, the heat, the fire, was brimming out, and I knew that I couldn't hold on for long. So I asked her to get up, and we left.

The heat soon withered, and the bench was left cold. Autumn resisted vehemently, but winter, my heart had realised by then, is an inevitability.