Excerpt from a book I will never write.


I watched him as the life of sand escaped his fingers. He seemed to be soliciting in the back of his mind. I called out his name once. Twice. Wondered if the sand leaving his fingers knew what it was passing through, the fingers that were bound by a salad of love and distress, touching and pushing around everything that came in his way. I wondered if the sand collected in his fingerprints knew how favored it was. I wanted to panic and waver and trap each grain of sand that he was carelessly letting slip through his fingers. Indeed, it felt like I was a hungry sheep waiting for it’s master to feed her, whereas my master was waiting for his bread. I called out his name once again, and I felt lucky of being in that spot where i could call out his name. I would have been a thousand miles away, flourished by the unawareness of his existence, but here I was, maybe the smallest part of his leviathan amount of love. His name contained two syllables, of which my tongue would strike the palate once when i blurted it. I kept repeating his name till I lost the very meaning of that word, till it didn’t feel like a word anymore. I wanted to shake him by his shoulder and push him amidst the rose bushes, I wouldn’t care if we were caged by thorns, for our mindfulness was forehandedly clouded by thorns. I had all sorts of visual memories of him. His expressions changing like the beginning of renaissance to the end of it, completely changed. If not for the deep talks, I wanted to push out the peripheral news out of him, perhaps a small talk about his dinner. Anything at all. I wanted emotions. On some nights I used to posses for the wanting of his lush skin around my body. For the love of god, I had everything non-living around me that kept me in existence, but was i alive? I felt skinned and naked every time i thought of him. I felt stripped of every ounce of organism that was breeding on my body. I wanted to wear his skin and unfold every scar of his like it was mine. There was so much to do.

-Shambhavi Pataskar


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