He paints me. I’m a fantasy – a chimera, yet he paints me. He believes I’m an angel. Pure. Untouched. Gentle. Unrealistically fabulous. He has not known me. Just felt me. I’m his muse. The diva. The gift of his life.
There is smoke somewhere. I cannot seem to figure out where. The lights are here, the music is here. Has it been home here ? Perhaps. Maybe when it did not rain. Or maybe when it rained and it did not matter. Maybe when I walked alone, smiling to myself. Or maybe when I realized I was okay. Had it been always like this ?
Not really. Things clicked, took effort and blood. Did I do it ? Or the beasts did ? Maybe we both together, Played this game. Amidst soulful solitude, it was love. Maybe appreciation. Another journey, another dry spell. Will it ever be home again ?
P.S. : Penned at Candies, Bandra on 11th January 2017