I let you come to me as you wished. Move ahead, run back, whatever you pleased.
I don’t know why, but I thought it was okay for me to stay still.
It would seem perfect in the beginning— with your head resting on my shoulder, your hair veiling your eyes. It was a dream… from a safe distance.
But then, I would start to edge closer, cautious, nervous, skeptic. I would notice your eyebrows frowning, your lips too pursed for a peaceful sleep.
My curiosity would reach out.
And my heart would stop, because yours was distant, and I knew, you were sailing your troubled waters again.
And as much as my soul craved to lend a hand, I couldn’t. You had a spark in your eyes, as you looked up to the sky, and it willed you to face your fears alone.
All I could do was wait by the shore.
I had faith. Faith in you.
Faith, that when the time is right, when realisation strikes a chord with your troubles, your sea would calm down. I had faith, that when you would be back, your smile would make me forget your tears, and mine too.
Because the wind feels colder as it hits your wet feet, seeping into your scratched skin, and I can see you, closing your eyes; feel you, letting the breeze reach the tips of your fingers; and you’re alive in a manner so exotic, oh, darling.
I feel afraid before I touch you.