January 26, 2008

3-0

"Don't Stop", he said to me.

Another random statement, I assumed. A small smile, and I carried on with my early morning task. Making him breakfast. He liked his sunny side up. If that was a coincidence or not, I still don't know. The summer, the sun, always brightened me up. Just like him and these fried eggs. I watch him eat. He tells me I cook well. I believe him.

Arsenal beat Fulham, 3-0. That was the topic of discussion for the day. It's funny how men presume women to be football novices! I beg to differ! Some of us actually know the difference between an offside and an onside. I shot back feisty and blazing, each time. He always seemed calm. The bastard. He had seen many, I guess. Some, who posed to impress him. Some, genuine fans. Nevertheless, I was certain that I didn't qualify as an exception.
As I lay on my belly, staring at nothing in particular, I thought of how long it had taken me to feel this way. I hadn't felt special or desired in so long! All we ache for is 'The Feeling'. That one spark that plummets you into a vortex of unending passion, until you're sure for a brief series of moments that this maybe it! Was there a spark? Yes. A moment? Thousands. A multitude of blood rushing emotions? Absolutely! Then what was it that was stalling the process? Oh God, maybe only I was feeling it! Maybe I was his weekend muse! "Maybe", said a mocking voice in my head; "If you continue talking, it would resound off your head, into his and he'll actually leave!" I shut my eyes and winced.
"Hey, you okay?", he asks. Like he always does. Genuinely concerned. I fake a smile. "Yeah. My eyes were burning", I lie. (Of course I'm not "okay", you insensitive-person-whom-I-just-made-delicious-breakfast-for!) I sit up and look at him straight in the face and ask, "Did you like breakfast?" (I might as well have asked if he liked me for breakfast! Bloody Hell!) "I loved it. Thank you." he replies, with so much sincerity that I was floored. Little butterflies exploded in my stomach, as I looked away.
This was him. Guileless. Sincere. Rational. Passionate. He approached everything with so much simplicity and courage, that I have to really think twice before I question his intentions. They were pure and finite. I wish I could function that way. Unruffled. Smiling. Yet intense. The fact that he inspired me enough, for this very mediocre piece of literature, is quite fascinating to me.


And just so you know... I won't stop. Writing.

11 comments:

Anonymous said...

so true! :)

Fat Pony said...

Really? How? :)

Anonymous said...

i can relate to it very well .. even the poem "sucker" .. love it! its almost like your describing what goes on in my mind :) hehe

mad*

Fat Pony said...

I know darl. Its being a woman. :)

Mwah*

vibhor said...

good stuff lady!!
keep up the good work

Princess Selene said...

:)
you're back...

Fat Pony said...

Selene! Yes I am hun!! :)

Vibhor.. Thank you. :)

CA said...

woman am waiting for ur next post ;)

Anonymous said...

Hmmmmmmmmm...

vibhor said...

r u not posting anything else nowadays....!!

pure said...

but you did :-(

still, nice post.