Today as he laid on his bed injured, nostalgia hit him, reminding him of good old days. Days when she visited him in his shoddy place and read him books while his legs ached in physical pain. She pampered him by fetching water everytime he needed it, did all the silly household chores but above all laughed at his bad jokes. He asked her why did she laughed at his bad jokes, and then she would transform herself into Jack Nicholson (Mc Murphy) of One who flew over the cuckoo's nest and quote "Man when you lose your laugh, you lose your footing..."
She read him Catcher in the rye though he had already read it before. She read him Crime and Punishment, Catch 22 , God of small things and lots of poetry. He could hardly concentrate on her words because his mind was mesmerised by her act of reading. Her words were clear and she read like our favourite English teacher who changes her pitch and the tone with the flowing emotions in the book. Despite that, he could not understand her readings. Probably because when heart opens, mind shuts itself.
Well luxury had never appealed him. He liked simple things, books, poetry, being alone or with someone who understood*. She definitely understood him. Last person to do so.
Well, but then his image killed him. He came out as a nonchalant and a sarcastic guy and he could not help being judged otherwise. Alas, even his love for her sounded too nonchalant and sarcastic to her and she laughed at his confessions of love as well. She once got drunk and told him that he was not the right guy for her because her prince charming was someone else. He did not mind it that much. He loved chases. He wanted her to love him back. Guess what, she did love him but only confessed at the moment they parted.
With her around him, the world did never seem a struggle or a predaceous sequence of chance events, but shimmering bliss, beneficent trepidation, a gift bestowed upon us and largely unappreciated**.
And today that he laid sentimental on his bed.......
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PS: Inspired by **Nabokov, *Daphne Du Maurier.
(Tried to come back to writing world through this post with some confused thoughts, twisted lines and having read some inspired pieces by some kickass writers mainly Nabokov, Calvino and Camus).
She read him Catcher in the rye though he had already read it before. She read him Crime and Punishment, Catch 22 , God of small things and lots of poetry. He could hardly concentrate on her words because his mind was mesmerised by her act of reading. Her words were clear and she read like our favourite English teacher who changes her pitch and the tone with the flowing emotions in the book. Despite that, he could not understand her readings. Probably because when heart opens, mind shuts itself.
Well luxury had never appealed him. He liked simple things, books, poetry, being alone or with someone who understood*. She definitely understood him. Last person to do so.
Well, but then his image killed him. He came out as a nonchalant and a sarcastic guy and he could not help being judged otherwise. Alas, even his love for her sounded too nonchalant and sarcastic to her and she laughed at his confessions of love as well. She once got drunk and told him that he was not the right guy for her because her prince charming was someone else. He did not mind it that much. He loved chases. He wanted her to love him back. Guess what, she did love him but only confessed at the moment they parted.
With her around him, the world did never seem a struggle or a predaceous sequence of chance events, but shimmering bliss, beneficent trepidation, a gift bestowed upon us and largely unappreciated**.
And today that he laid sentimental on his bed.......
_________________________________________________________________________________
PS: Inspired by **Nabokov, *Daphne Du Maurier.
(Tried to come back to writing world through this post with some confused thoughts, twisted lines and having read some inspired pieces by some kickass writers mainly Nabokov, Calvino and Camus).
