”Alarm clock resigned
I wake up before the alarm rings .
Im hugging my teddy bear tightly…
I touch bears black nose like it’s yours
I don’t usually remember how I went to the bathroom.
As I splash water on my face, life seems to multiply inside me…
I toast a slice of bread and rub butter on it.
As i bite, your beard like the crunchy bread comes to my hand, it’s like tiny little stings in my hand….
I’m boiling an egg. the whites of your eyes were huge
I remember you watching me with your eyes without moving your head as I fix my dress in front of the full-length mirror.
Winter has come here, without knocking on the door
My hands seem to run through your hair as I put on my coat.
I go to work at dawn.
The harsh but sweet wake-up call of the morning is a must, like the thorn of the rose.
My nose burns when I go outside.
I quicken my steps so I don’t miss the bus
You used to avoid me walking on the beach, I would speed up to pass you
I am sitting in a single seat on the bus.
I want to rest my head on the window and take a nap for a few minutes, but it’s hard and cold. Your shoulders weren’t like that. My cheek would slide to your chest and I would feel warm. and you were my musical pillow with your heartbeat…
When I come to my bus stop, i press the button to get off the bus, it says my bus stop announcement , which I forgot how many times we heard it with our rich feelings in our life with poor economy.
I walk off the bus. I’m in a hurry.
I come to a little puddle. I remember the first time you danced with me on my birthday while jumping on dry places without slowing down and crossing the puddle in three or four steps. You said you learned dancing for me. I felt special once again.
When I should go straight, I turn right and cross the street. I will not go to work. Not when im this much full of you. I need to forget but I don’t want to forget…
I whistle the taxi with one hand. We were going to a sportgame once. we learned then. though you couldn’t play, but your effort was more than enough for me.”
Imlie had forgotten that there were only a few spectators in the cinema besides aryan and herself.
She was so engrossed in the film that she was lost in mixed emotions with a smiling face as tears from her eyes flowed.
Longing,
Pain,
Joy,
Love…
She took a pinch of popcorn in her mouth
Involuntarily, her eyes shifted to Aryan.
Aryan noticed her and looked sharply at Imlie.
In the dim light, time forgot itself.
The place disappeared
Tomorrow the weatherman in TV would say that there was a brief electrical storm in the neighborhood of the cinema.
4 Comments
the photo i used is from my childhood.
our home was there like 10 years.
a few years ago i went there.
i clicked this photo.
love will find a way if both have something for eachother, even if they dont look matched.
thank you editor.
thank you my dear friends for burning my fire Star.Shruti.Shriharshita.Naina.Tara.Neha.Lilou…
Wow!@Metin, quite a piece. I really enjoyed reading this. The word pictures were something else. Keep it up.
@Metin, why did you just bring Imlie back into play? I was enjoying an independent narrative from you🙃 … 😃 Just kidding … your story, your rules… Your style crystallizes every day more… “Life seems to multiply”? …”Musical pillow with a heartbeat”? Wow 👏✨… and so many other word-pictures … Very, very well done 🎩 … I was just tied up… Keep going 👍
I am amazed @Metin.
I can feel and imagine each word you mentioned.
It’s like a reel of pictures running in my head.
And title. I just don’t know how to describe it in my words.
Your writings remind me that – feel every moment around you. Enjoy being in this world. And love the world around you the way it is, the way it originally is. So many thoughts. But couldn’t organize any in words. I now feel life even seems to multiply by going through a good read like this. Today it is my bedtime story. And a nice one I will remember. I will cherish. People say characters in the story should be heroes. But many people agree that the story should be the hero. And this was what I even felt -The story should be the hero. But when emotions are described as neatly, as briefly and as simply as this, I give up. The emotion is hero in the story. In this story.
I am looking forward for more of your works. It yielded me some unknown satisfaction today. And it is mutual too as you write as you please, and I read as I please with all the satisfaction and passion in air surrounding us.