It read ‘2016 that night. The lips trembled when they came
in contact with another-set of them, they kissed unashamedly, but naturally. Their
bodies merged like the shadow of two different objects that gets displayed as one.
They never consummated but felt more complete than ever before. Such was their companionship
that needed no acceptance; such was their relationship that lost identity
in-time only to become anonymously famous. Such was their indulged passion that
onlookers could see through them and not them, such was their love for each-other
that they never even told another i-love-you.
A kind of love that poets don’t write about, a kind of love
that artists don’t enact and a kind of love that could be only experienced by
them-species, a kind that only could be given and a kind that only can be incomplete!
She seeks him since she was incomplete and he chose to seek her
since it gave him a purpose for his being. At the start he resisted and then
she did, while they both knew it wasn’t right, she any way did. In-time they realize
that time has passed by, in relativity, everything else ‘but’ the time had passed
by. It read ‘1998 that evening. To this date they both are where they met for
the very first time, leaning on the very table, seated on the very chair, gazing
into another’s eyes, hearing the unsaid, innocently smiling without being afraid,
a bit nervous, a bit lacking dare and ever since nothing has changed.
If something did change, it was neighborhood, streets signs,
dark lanes and even the laws of the land. But! If-only this could change their compassion
for another’s wellbeing, if-only this could change their dreams of being one-again,
if-only this could change their desires to consummate and if-only this could change
their relationship statuses then this could be qualified as a change. Hence, while
all else did change, what did not, is assured to remain same. Such was their
love for another that they continue to not say i-love-you yet feel the separations
pain.
Such a pain, makes them realize that no matter how sophisticated
the artificial intelligence gets invented, a man’s embrace and a women’s warmth
is not felt but for being touched-by. What a clasp of hug can do, there is no
substitute for that expression but for that absolute expression. Years go by,
they don’t talk. More years go by, they don’t express. Even more years go by, now
they don’t remember what they are expected to remember by elements of society
they belong. They have grown old, very old, as old as beauty can get, as old as
innocence can get, and they continue to not say i-love-you but they have not
loved anyone else but each-other for their entire life.
Either of them are astonishing disguises in their daily course
of being; they are as best as anyone could even imagine to-be. They are someone
who gets looked upon by mortals; they are someone who gets referenced by immortals.
Oh boy! How incomplete they are, so incomplete they are. Incomplete since they
are not at arms-length, since they do not get to share a tooth-brush, since
they are unable to see each-others progressing old age. Such incompleteness is flawlessly
disguised to an extent that only their mirrors don’t get fooled, everyone else
does. And for the world of onlookers who continue to see through them and not
them, they are one as horizon and united as a poisonous creeper is to a tree.
Through all this and more they continue to not say i-love-you since what they possess
for each-other is very surreal and not surficial.
And today they love each other to an extent that they do not
need one another, whatsoever. A single tale of several memories they have
created over these years is good enough. A sole line of dialogue from innumerable
conversations they have held is good enough. A reference of him by a passerby
is good enough. A picture of her displayed in the scent of soil is good enough.
Through a far lingering hope, she loves him through someone else and he loves
her through himself, and they both are in a kind of love that cannot be
resisted and that is OK.
Kunal!
