Noisy times and quite times

Everything is scattered. Only thing in order is chaos. You know what they say about chaos? Chaos was always a law of nature and order is a dream of a man. What makes order so desirable? Is it because predictability is one of the ways to make one feel safe or is it because it feels stronger to know that you have influenced the change in order.

Chaos being a beautiful thing it is breeds life while order only breeds habit. But for her chaos of mind created a habit.

Habit that drained her of all her energy leaving her gasping for more living then life as the taste of happiness got addictive. That’s why today she was sitting in front of this man.

With him the society’s opinion structure dissolved and her soul was as light as a feather. Slouched in the chair, dark clothes clad her. Her midnight black Tommy Hilfiger coat laid unnoticed on the floor and her dark brown Prada shoes complimented the shiny piano that lay in the corner of the hall. Her brown hair was an untamed mess and her bangs overgrown, almost covered her eyes. As a ray of moonlight gleamed across the gloss of the hood of the piano, her red stained mouth curled into a slight smile.

“You.”, she whispered.

“Yes, me.”

She sat up straight and her brown eyes suddenly shone. He was here. To see her again. Travelling all the way from so far away to see her. His stubble enhanced his rugged jaw line and his long dark eyelashes kissed his cheeks as he looked down to remove his shoes. His fuller lips smiled as he looked at her with amusement.

“You seem pleased to see me.”

“You barely come to visit anymore.”

“I know.”

He got up and walked over to her. He loomed over her as his broad shoulders covered everything in her line of vision. Little portions of his copper brown muscled body were visible from under his white shirt as he cupped her round face in his warm rough hands. His brown eyes gazed over her as he held her gaze. Pain swam in the slight amber shade of his eyes which only the light noticed but relief of seeing her again made the girl sitting in front of him feel like her struggle had some meaning.

His thumb caressed her soft cheek as their lips met. You could almost see the spark that flew behind them. She inhaled the smell of him as much as she could so that she could remember it for as long as he was gone. He smelled so good. His lips felt so good. They kissed for so long she didn’t know whose are she was breathing.

“I am here now. “, he whispered too.

Words flowed out of his mouth so smoothly, like pearls moving on silk. He pulled away and dragged her to the bed. But they just lay there. Like they used to. Staring at their ceiling filled with paper swans hanging down from strings. They moved with the sway of the wind. Some big and some small. Some made out of newspaper and some out of other printed papers. However each were made with immaculate perfection.

Emma exhaled. “Where have you been?”

“Somewhere.”

“You never tell me where somewhere is.”

“You don’t have to know.”

“How mean.”

Paul gave out a snobbish laughter. The lines around his eyes were more prominent now and his smile lines grew deeper. But all that became evident for Emma was the sinking feeling in her stomach as her boat foundered further. She turned her head to look at him and pouted, dropping her eyebrows lower till his expression softened.

“Don’t give me that look Emma. You know I can’t stand it.” She looked at him with her puppy dog face even longer trying to break him but instead burst into a giggle. She only hoped that atleast her ringing laugh would make him stay longer.

He turned and looked at her laughing. Oh, how she laughed with so much indifference to anything or anyone around her. Their eyes met.

“I am losing it, ain’t I?”

“No you are not.”

“Everyone says so.”

“I always told you not to listen to everyone Emma.”

He moved closer to her and cupped her hand.

“You will be okay.” Paul said as he gave her a sheet of paper. She smiled and took it.

“You didn’t forget that-“

“On making the thousandth swan you get a wish. Go ahead.”

Emma sat up. Her chest felt heavy and she was almost choked. Despite the fact that her vision was blurred with tears, she folded the pink paper till it was a large delicate swan. She could swear she saw it move.

She felt calm in his presence. Her thoughts where quite not like their usual selves, going wild and making her paranoid. There was no noise in her head.

“Did you wish?”

“Yes I did.”

Paul smiled like he already knew.'

“What did you wish for?”

As a small tear rolled down her cheek, she whispered, “I wished you were real.”

He smiled and leaned closer to her ear. “I am very much real.” He said as he withdrew and disappeared.

The pain rushed into her head and heart and she could feel anxiety building. Emma started sweating and threw the paper swan in her hand aside absent minded. Her breath came in heavy gasps as she clutched her chest.

She glanced over at the bed side picture of her dead husband but refused to take her daily dose of ­­­­anti-psychotics.

Because meeting him every night in the dark had become a habit; even if it was in her head.

It was okay, because Paul had assured her that she wasn’t losing it.

A few words – Scars anchor you to reality but the pain flies you away to the world you want to be in. Dedicated.