He decided to go to the sea that day. He asked me if I wanted to come along if I wasn’t too busy.
I had a million things planned up but I told him I’d love to. The truth is I love to be everywhere and anywhere he is, I love it more than anything but I didn’t tell him that, of course.
His eyes weren’t as blue as the ocean but you could sink into them just as effortlessly and treacherously as the deepest of the oceans. He had always loved the sea, loved the sound of the sea, he had told me. He stood there, staring at the sea and I stood there wishing he could stare at me like that.
And I could look into his eyes even though I pretended not to look at him. Looking into his eyes had always scared me and petrified me and fascinated me. I loved to look at him if at all I dared to.
His eyes. His eyes spoke of the war he was caught up in under duress. The war he went to every morning. He had lost his way, he had said and I was secretly glad he had lost because I had found mine. His eyes touched me, flogged me and I could never look at him for more than seconds. But I desperately wanted to look. Sometimes, I think I’m so stupid.
I think minutes passed like that, we were standing there, our feet dug deep into the sands and waves skipping on them. We were so silent, it was almost throbbing, painful for me. It was bizarre to me because I would keep prattling all the time but that day, I couldn’t.
He was so manically silent. And his eyes broke his stillness in a way I couldn’t get. His eyes squealed out his love; his robust, stunning, beleaguered love. And I wanted to amass all that love and bank them from debauchery. I wondered if it was all in my head and I contemplated on the odds of me being insane. I wanted him to stop looking at the sea and look at me maybe.
I wanted him to run away from everything that ever bothered him because he was too nice to be gloomy.
I wished I could tell him everything would be alright because I would do everything to make everything alright but I couldn’t get myself to speak. And times when I’m at a loss of words are infrequent. I wished the sea would stop being so boisterous so that I could hear what was going on his mind. I knew him, knew parts of him.
Yet, he was vagueness. A mesmerizing vagueness I implicated myself into some time back; a vagueness I have idiotically tousled more of me into. He’s a mystery. A mystery the more I know about, the more I wish to know.
He had a story he never liked to tell. He had told me a part of it though. It was nothing much, nothing I hadn’t heard before. It was just that someone had gone and taken a lot of him away with the leave. And I couldn’t help wondering why anyone would ever want to leave him. Why?
I was still silent, dying to speak, trying to speak and saying nothing. He had once told me he loved to turn his head away from noise and into sounds. I guessed that’s what he was trying to do. Listening to the sounds of the sea. And I didn’t want to pester him and his tryst with the sounds.
So I kept unnaturally quiet, waiting for him to sever the hush.
Some time passed. He turned around, looked at me and asked me why I was so quiet that day.
He asked me what I was thinking. He looked at me and his eyes, god. I just stared and then, the gaze hit me again. I had to turn away from those trenchant, stabbing eyes.
I lied to him that I wasn’t thinking anything. Only the sea and the thriving waves.
He only smiled. I couldn’t look at him but I could feel his gaze.
And then, I don’t remember what happened.
All I remember is that he said that he wanted to hear me speak because my sound was far more soothing than the sea.
And I remember feeling euphoric and smiling. But I didn’t make a sound. I just couldn’t.
The oblivious sea continued thudding. And I stood there grinning like an idiot. Like such a HAPPY idiot.