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 I write what I see. |
| New year begins with hopes. I wish to write at least a Blog post per day. |
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Love Is In The Air Bodhisattwa Parekh The air shifted today, not for the turning of a season, But a sudden, unexpected warmth, Like stepping from shadow into sun. It began subtly, a shared glance across a crowded room. The kind of glance that doesn't demand. But simply acknowledges, A quiet recognition across the noise. Your eyes, the colour of deep river stones After a spring rain, Held a stillness I hadn't known I was seeking. My breath caught, a small, forgotten thing. Lodged in my throat, then released, lighter than before. The air thickened then. Not heavy, but resonant, Vibrating with unspoken possibility. It smelt faintly of old books and fresh-cut grass. The scent of beginnings. We spoke of trivial things first. The weather, the terrible coffee, The clumsy way the world rushes by, But beneath the surface, A current pulled us, stronger than tides. Each word you offered to me, Carefully placed stone, Building a bridge. I didn't realize that. And I needed to cross. My laughter, usually guarded, Spilt out, easy and unrestrained, A sound I hadn't heard from myself in years. The afternoon stretched, elastic and slow, Filled with silences that weren't empty. But, full of listening to mapping the contours of your presence. When your hand brushed me Reaching for a napkin, It is a small electric shock. Not jarring, but grounding. This feeling, this pervasive tiredness, It settles in depth, not flashy or dramatic. But steadily, like the northward pulling of the compass. It’s the knowledge that even The mundane moments are suddenly gilded. Walking home later, the streetlights bloom gold. The ordinary traffic sounds seemed muted. As if the world had lowered its volume To better hear the quiet symphony Blooming inside my chest. This isn't the extreme, Consuming the fire of storybook romance, Dramas and lightnings strike. That was different. This is the slow, certain bloom of a root-finding water, The deep satisfaction of belonging. It’s the air that is whispering your name. A constant but gentle reminder. That is something true that has found its way in. It is unforced and undeniable. Love, I realize now, isn't always loud and thunderous. Sometimes, it’s just the quiet, perfect breath. A newly shared atmosphere. And that is more than enough. It is everything. Lines: 62 Theme ▶︎ |
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