Wednesday, April 2, 2008
the future's not a fugitive anymore.
calls herself aishwarya. and aishwarya, won me over. cud have driven by her, made it to nowhere, as ignorant of light and being, as of milan kundera. she could have as easily been just another pretty face, irritatinly nameless, and fleetinly memorable as i could have ended up bein just another asshole, inevitably cynical, and comfortably anonymous. only, she was my angel undercover.after a lifetime of nut-crunchin ball games with malice and the mundane, she blessed me.the bitter sweet symphony of a hard fought victory.she blessed me. had our share of lex luthers and darth vaders. of nightmares and northern stars. she took my arm, held on tight, and refused to give in. to give up. everythin took its toll. there was distance. there was darkness. prophecies of imminent death and parables of starcrossed lovers. all we had was us. and flipbooks of a beautiful future. till death do us apart. we believed. past the haze of unrest and infinite space, gazin into each other, only to stare at ourselves starin back. we knew. to hold on was to make happen. and happen we would. she fought for me, as i took the blow, past her scream. shrill.dry.spellin out my name, in fear and breathin. cud afford to smile through the ride to hell and back. for eventually seemed next door, and life, was on hold. pacin all over, for us to arrive. weak and down on our knees, bled off color and courage, chivalry hangin out to the wind, she still held my arm, as we swam ashore. to the other side. finally, we had each other. and that somehow, explained. everythin and then some more. embalmed in her embrace, liplocked, and open-eyed, breathin warmth into each other, we were plain grateful. that it almost left us spent and senile, that it could so easily not have been, and that we managed to gift us with life. maybe someday, it would really sink in. that it took me bein outrageously blessed to be spendin the rest of my life, with my pretty princess. it took us, every bit of us. the fact that three years later is two weeks from now is testimony, that god after all, isn't busy playin dice with a very dead einstein.
Posted by love and squalor at 8:58 AM