Writes: To The Cottage On The Beach

It is a dance between a man and a woman.
Where romance can be the difference between reality and dreams.
Where the chance of love is a choice between life or death that isn’t so clear.
Where even a fantasy or lie can be worth living … things are not as they appear.

Turn . your . volume . up .

He bows to her, taking her fingertips gently in hand. Without being understanding, they argue about the things they desire to change. She steps his way, and curtsies … but the space between them remains, because to get any closer would be insane. She becomes irate, says that he’s a waste. A high-heeled shoe shatters their picture on the table. Only the frame remains. He leads, she follows pleasantly. Their feet sweep the mahogany floor … ever so effortlessly. As their memories of yesterday descend … life anticipates their steps. If only they’d listen. They glide, and step … glide, and step. By choice, and without direction they carve their fate. The topic? Take your pick: the house, the car, their jobs, wanting children, the costs … unable to let go of yesterday, afraid of tomorrow, so today is lost. The consequence of their meeting is an audience held in suspence captivated by their movements. His lips move aggressively but inaudible words are replaced and heard by menacing hand gestures in her direction. Holding each other they react like lovers from another life, maybe she was his wife. Arms folded, with attitude she stands in demand on her left leg. They stand on their last. As they shift, their environment ceases to exist and they travel to remote locations only privy to them. A tear trickles down her face. She covers it in shame. A flowing white gown spins around, and the ceiling mirrors their wake. “Was this a mistake?”, she contemplates. He looks into her eyes and asks, “where have you been all my life?” His back is to her, she who was once his world. She smiles and says, “the same place I’ll be for the rest of it.” Her chest against his in submission … he says, “At least we have today.” Her, “Always.”

She who was once his world, and he who was once her’s.

 
 
 
 
- Prasand J.