Narrative - lost. (Into an idiot.)

                               Narrative - lost. (Into an idiot.)

Was it just you who fell in love when you weren’t supposed to?

It was the staircase this time. They held each other happily when all he wanted was to get those lips of hers into his already. She wanted to hold him, and stand there near the stars forever, as they walked back into reality.

She has mood swings. She talks, leaps and the next moment, wants you running behind her like nothing shan’t happen anymore.

She rose from that spot in the staircase with no ventilation except for his whistling breath surrounding her.

She looked out of the small arena of hers into the world outside, eager to find answers. She never told him what her problems were. He wanted to know them, as he wanted to know her.

There was always something about his smile that got her forgetting what her problem was.

He was agitated, he wanted to know her. Know her problems. Know what those ‘lovely’ lips were worrying and bothering about. She kissed him, made him get over her silly bothering.

He wouldn’t let it go.

They bid bye when he knew she wouldn’t tell him her things anymore.

For, baby, I looked at you as I watched you go back. After that painful bye. You turned. You looked into my eyes. You came back to me and you knew I wanted you. I wanted you despite all those baffling.

Darling, I love you. I love you and that was why I let you hold me strong and hard under your arms when I shed tears on your chest. There was not a weaker wall I have seen than my heart. But, you loved me. You loved me back to the staircases where we kissed and the movie halls we held hands in. And back to love itself where we began.

There were always things about him.

There was something about him when he asked her if she was scared of something.

There was something about him when he told her that he shall love her even if she’s fat and out of features.

There was something about him when he discovered that she was feared of being judged. She was afraid that he’d leave her with all odds that she could never be with.

Idiot, there was something about you which made you realize that

I was different.

But, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, you are my problem. You are my glass that’d be shattered soon.

Those fingers and lips that’d vanish.

Those eyes that can never be mine.

Those arms that wouldn’t wrap around me like it always did.

Those words, that you stress upon that you’d leave me soon, was a joke for you and a narrative for me.

For, wasn’t it all a story that wasn’t supposed to happen?