The sky above us lit up in an odd shade of baby pink. The clouds are sparse up there today, tiny, incoherent lumps of white floating around callously. It's evening time, perhaps. I don't look up, in particular, but I can sense the calmness in the sky, the stillness in the weather and the tranquility all around us. We're in a park? A forest? A meadow...? There are trees all around us, dark brown, bushy trees. The leaves are a fiery tinge of orange, not the fading kind that you see in autumn, not the dead leaves. The leaves are still on the trees, like an orange overcoat tailored to fit the season perfectly. There's not much around, nothing substantial to look at. We're on a bright winding path, extending back to as far as our sight can see in its shimmering glow and going further away into the distance where we aren't paying attention. You're in a white dress, the details of which slip by me. My mind is here, so am I, but I am not focused on the clean ribbon that ties the dress down at your waist, or how the thin straps lie ever so gently on your shoulder. I am more focused on how your thick hair curves around your right eye and falls on your shoulder, how you like to wear your hair on one side, you say that it's because you hate it when your hair gets in your eyes; I suppose wearing glasses doesn't make it any easier.
I cannot recall how long we have been walking, time doesn't seem to have relevance to me now. I am only fixated on the person walking beside me, and she seems happy, and I suppose, so do I. For once, she doesn't catch me brooding my time away, rather, she finds me smiling and conversing and being a different person. I do not know how long this walk is going to be, but I do not want it to end.
In front of us, in the near distance, I can see a stream, a rushing stream. The sound of the gushing water over the lush banks of yellow grass is so endearing, we speed up our pace, the stream seeks to be the center of attraction now. Over the blue, restless stream, lies an old wooden bridge, it's no special bridge but it is beautiful, rustic and perhaps even unstable, at this point. Simplicity has always been more captivating than forced exuberance. For a moment, I do not wish to crossover the bridge, I want to sit by the stream and let the time pass, for a while, as if I'd be willing to do anything to make this walk last longer. I am not particularly interested in where we are going, rather I am interested in talking this walk with you; a walk that does not need a destination. You seem to be happy, until you are no longer. You're caught in a hurry but I do not know why, you start walking again, and I follow, for I have always followed.
We're on the bridge, but no longer walking side by side, you seem to be eager to crossover the bridge, you are no longer interested in admiring the natural beauty around us. Perhaps, I wasn't either, all this while, I was enthralled by your bewildering sight; too bewitched to notice how the birds chirped stopped chirping around us, or how the pink sky was finally turning grey, I was too busy to notice the sun setting on our perfect evening. I didn't notice, any of it.
The bridge doesn't bode too well as we walk over it, I take cautious steps, but you no longer seem to be worried. As I walk slowly, I notice the bridge cracking behind me. I try to catch up to you, and perhaps, I realised that I should speed up my pace as well. We finally crossed over, to the other side, but I suppose, we left the bridge a little too weak.
The winding path behind us no longer seemed to continue the same way. Ahead of us was a short walk until the meadow cleaved into the pathway separating it into two different ways, going far away from each other. I walked behind you, you did not seem like you wanted to talk. Your hands were folded on top of each other, your gaze no longer towards the road, it shifted downwards. You looked at your feet on the dull road, as if you were trying to hold on to this walk a little longer, trying not to be interested in where we were going.
You finally let your hands down, you stand, still and you look back at me. You give me a forlorn look, one of sadness, anger or maybe some of both. I have always tried to understand the mystery hidden behind your eyes but this time I cannot decipher this code that you have put up for me. You turn around and walk, this time, eyes perfectly placed on the road ahead and you walk away from where the road parts, on the brighter side of the road, where the meadow cleaved into our pathway.
I find myself, at the mouth of the partition, I want to go back, for a moment, I walk down the path from where we came, this time without you. I had more time to notice mature now, I walked very slowly, as if to prolong my walk, as to allow the time to pass without me. I noticed now, how the baby pink sky was no longer bright, how the orange leaves weren't actually orange, everything was dull now. I had finally reached the stream, but the bridge was no longer there, I could not cross over, to where we came from. I suppose, we burned that bridge down when we crossed it.
I cannot recall how long we have been walking, time doesn't seem to have relevance to me now. I am only fixated on the person walking beside me, and she seems happy, and I suppose, so do I. For once, she doesn't catch me brooding my time away, rather, she finds me smiling and conversing and being a different person. I do not know how long this walk is going to be, but I do not want it to end.
In front of us, in the near distance, I can see a stream, a rushing stream. The sound of the gushing water over the lush banks of yellow grass is so endearing, we speed up our pace, the stream seeks to be the center of attraction now. Over the blue, restless stream, lies an old wooden bridge, it's no special bridge but it is beautiful, rustic and perhaps even unstable, at this point. Simplicity has always been more captivating than forced exuberance. For a moment, I do not wish to crossover the bridge, I want to sit by the stream and let the time pass, for a while, as if I'd be willing to do anything to make this walk last longer. I am not particularly interested in where we are going, rather I am interested in talking this walk with you; a walk that does not need a destination. You seem to be happy, until you are no longer. You're caught in a hurry but I do not know why, you start walking again, and I follow, for I have always followed.
We're on the bridge, but no longer walking side by side, you seem to be eager to crossover the bridge, you are no longer interested in admiring the natural beauty around us. Perhaps, I wasn't either, all this while, I was enthralled by your bewildering sight; too bewitched to notice how the birds chirped stopped chirping around us, or how the pink sky was finally turning grey, I was too busy to notice the sun setting on our perfect evening. I didn't notice, any of it.
The bridge doesn't bode too well as we walk over it, I take cautious steps, but you no longer seem to be worried. As I walk slowly, I notice the bridge cracking behind me. I try to catch up to you, and perhaps, I realised that I should speed up my pace as well. We finally crossed over, to the other side, but I suppose, we left the bridge a little too weak.
The winding path behind us no longer seemed to continue the same way. Ahead of us was a short walk until the meadow cleaved into the pathway separating it into two different ways, going far away from each other. I walked behind you, you did not seem like you wanted to talk. Your hands were folded on top of each other, your gaze no longer towards the road, it shifted downwards. You looked at your feet on the dull road, as if you were trying to hold on to this walk a little longer, trying not to be interested in where we were going.
You finally let your hands down, you stand, still and you look back at me. You give me a forlorn look, one of sadness, anger or maybe some of both. I have always tried to understand the mystery hidden behind your eyes but this time I cannot decipher this code that you have put up for me. You turn around and walk, this time, eyes perfectly placed on the road ahead and you walk away from where the road parts, on the brighter side of the road, where the meadow cleaved into our pathway.
I find myself, at the mouth of the partition, I want to go back, for a moment, I walk down the path from where we came, this time without you. I had more time to notice mature now, I walked very slowly, as if to prolong my walk, as to allow the time to pass without me. I noticed now, how the baby pink sky was no longer bright, how the orange leaves weren't actually orange, everything was dull now. I had finally reached the stream, but the bridge was no longer there, I could not cross over, to where we came from. I suppose, we burned that bridge down when we crossed it.
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