Friday, 2 January 2015

A far fetched desire

I won’t deny the fact that I am someone who doesn’t exist. You will find a face to fit on my non-existent one and that’s what I will look like. I reside in the yellow pages of those old books in your bookshelf and as time touches the spine of the hardbound cover, I shiver, but I am immortal in the memory of the pages.

You humans have been falling in love with our likes for years. We are unreal, surreal. We feel the emotions given to us and go about our lives in our predetermined destiny. But I beg to differ. I’m meant to fall in love with Tris my soul mate in this book, but in truth I’m in love with her.

I’m as good as a blind man. The only faces I know are those of the people in my world. Their expressions only vary from frowns, smiles, smirks and grunts and emotions range from pain, predetermined happiness and predicted mourning of death. I know what my fate is, but she doesn’t. She anticipates my death and cries at night for me like I am a real person.

Once I felt wetness on the crisp pages, the page where I almost lost Tris. If I could feel any other emotion I would probably run to her and envelope her in my embrace assuring her nothing would ever be wrong. But all I could do was feel hurt for my soulmate. Oh how cruel that they are two of them.

My whole story has been a lie.

 As the pages turn wavy with her tears and smiles, I try to imagine her face. To me her world is unlike mine. I imagine it to be bright and sunny, where the moon runs through her hair at night and her body is warm unlike the coldness here. Nobody is divided into factions like us and she is the most beautiful girl in the world. But it’s so difficult to imagine her face sitting on her shelf every day, so close but not close enough to know the real her.

She knows everything about me and that’s cruel. She yearns for a Tobias in her life but she doesn’t know that the real one wants her. She wants to be a part of my life and that makes me feel evil to want her in my cruel world. Only her feelings are palpable to me but I’m cruelly derived of her touch and love in my reality.

But the truth is, it’s a farfetched want. I will always be waiting in the loneliness of these pages and soon I will just be a phase for her and she will grow old, with someone else, her mind will wander towards others of my kind, she will cry for them and smile for their victory, but yet I will still be a childhood memory.I will always be waiting immortal in these forgotten words for her to pick my story again and run her fingers across the pages alive with my desire.

And I will fall in love with her all over again.

A few words (in a picture):