Unrequited Love

Little was all you needed, to fall asleep under the cosy sheets, or disregard the great lack following right behind. One of the mornings as you lie in bed, you're awakened by a cacophony pining for your attention. Inside you. They who generously lavished affirmation on you yesterday return to repeat their words with greater intensity. You are humbled outwardly while another muscle, in reflexive agreement, fills your guts with happiness. They who had little regard also come, and bite you again. But these good guts say you can work these bites around, so you love.

You think it's simple to just choose me the way it builds you satisfaction. I am brought into being through what you are comfortable with understanding me to be, even as you are well aware that you might never acknowledge the real me.  It's easy to love. It's easier to love the way you want.

So being happy is easy. Being happy. Two words, unassuming, and straightforward. Devoid of all pretence, this is one innocent and pure ambition. Motivating...though you consciously and blatantly suppress the incredibly visible truth, cliche as it sounds, that happiness never lasts.

You want a place, so I'll bring you there. But the way I'm taking you is narrow and dark: all you have is me. It isn't comfortable, so you bail. Turn away and try another route you imagine would lead to the place.

I love you, and maybe you'd like to love me back. But it seems enough to love that place alone. Why do you love that place? Because you find everything that makes you complete. Everything that answers why you want to travel there. Everything that means a second chance. Everything that you want for eternity.

Little do you know, everything about that place you love, is in me. All you had to do to find it, was accept my love...and love me in return. That, is my place.

Speak, Someone

Golden skies and the tranquil breeze after a rain that infiltrates the shut windows signal half the day has gone. While stuffing chunk by chunk Linguistic Relativity into any compartment of the exhausted spaces of every active unit of life, an unsuspecting, mundane gesture preceded one of the most terrifying moments that would not lose its grip on me.

"Be still."

Terrifying, because: Never had it crossed the recency of my imagination. My clasped hands had loosen in laid-back composure. All my mind drew was a blank.

"Be still."

But every other sound was drowned by the furious pounding of blood that gushed tumultuously, again and again, into my head. A second round of fear gripped my heart, when every bone was beating against blood. Fear fighting fear; I fear because I feared.

"Be still."

Completely paralyzed in thought, the remaining ounce of strength could yield me only one thing.

"Be still."

In utter shackles, I found everything taken away from me, because I failed to choose what was good. I come empty-handed.

"Be still."

Fully aware of my inability to even number the hairs on my head, all I ask is, never leave me. Grace, was all I needed.

I will be still.