When two people meet, things happen. All kinds of things. And even before you can trace your fingers on each other’s cheeks, there comes a grand opening. Every relationship has its first grand opening. At some point. The first awkward silence, the first prick of pain, the first unspoken conflict, the first fight. And more often than not, they bring you together for the first time.
Really together.
“There are invisible lines between you and me. Lines that should never be crossed, lines that need to be respected and lines that define us in many ways. In wanting to be so close that nothing may ever come in between us, these invisible lines, when given purpose, can only bring us closer. Because when you open your arms wide to beckon me closer, I don’t want to be nudged. I want to be far enough to be able to run into them, and at the same time not so far away that I cannot feel you. As I grow older, hopefully wiser, and surely crazier — I’ll be needing that space every now and then. I’ll need to put up my tent and camp there when I can’t seem to find answers. You can light me my campfire, roast me my marshmallows, make me my hot chocolate and stare at me all you like under the twilight sky. But, keep the words for another day. You can stay close and keep me warm, but too close for comfort was never my style, baby. I’ve always been too screwed up for that kind of sweet lovin’.
But, this sacred space between us is a world in itself with its dark alleys, its floral valleys and its questionable morals. It’s the place where our shadows meet. It’s where the sparks fly. It’s where the minds intersperse. It’s ours and yet it’s part mine and part yours.
These invisible lines can mean different things. Sometimes I cross them when you aren’t watching. Sometimes I eavesdrop. Sometimes I walk past them even when you gingerly push me away. I tend to ignore the hints. I push you to push me away. But there comes a point when I know I’ve gone too far beyond the lines, into territory that should not be trespassed. I take off my shoes, hold the ruffles of my dress in my hands, and start running. Back to base. Back to my space. Sometimes, the mayhem can be averted. Sometimes, not. Words may fly and tempers may flare. Or there may be cold silences stretching into the loneliest of nights. More often than not, the burning guilt inside me makes me hold your hand, trample my ego and simply apologize. And this time I cross the lines, with intention, come over to your side and kiss away the pain that I brought you. By now, I know you have forgiven and forgotten because kisses always make you do that. You even urge me to believe that your space is mine to share, that I can walk in anytime —especially when the tide is high and my only safe haven is the lighthouse at your end of the coast. But you have always been gracious with your part of the space, giving me the freedom to look around, explore, question or even demand. The love, hope and music that we have going for us, always keeps you feeling selfless. So much so that sometimes when I want to feel you, I can just lean over and find you there, waiting to lock your eyes with mine.
But my space, that’s always been the Mission Impossible without Tom Cruise — basically, hopeless. I have guards and shields and other metaphors. I’ve never let you in beyond the sheer white curtains that the summer breeze loves to caress so much. It’s almost admirable to see you always waiting your turn when I lock myself in and unlock the vapid mind games. You patiently wait while I hibernate, or find time to love back. You respect the invisible lines, even the ones that don’t exist. You stand there smiling, giving me the thumbs up, making sure I eat my meals, dress-up when I have to, go out when I need to — all the time stealing glances and caring more than you really should — and making yourself happy in doing so. Maybe if I went around declaring my innermost desires to the people I felt them for, I’d end up like you — happy or something.
These lines are now stronger than the ones that run across our palms — the ones we were born with. In a short time, they have made their presence felt. They have guided us and misguided us. They have brought us closer, as close as close can get. They have taught us lessons of love, taken us on guilt trips, warned us when we tried to trick them and burnt us when we walked into their fire barefooted. At the very same time, they have taught us the beauty of distance, distance in love. The beauty of freedom, of time for oneself, of breathing the same air and yet living in two different souls. Of breathing together, rather than for each other.
This cosmic space between us is all we’ve got to remind us of how far we have come. They define the polarities in our world — pointing to questions that bewilder, without naming them. Unlike our physical bodies, or our fearless minds, this space is limited to our intertwined souls — merging only when we wish for nothing to come between us, but keeping us sane at all other times. Because walking on beaches, watching sunsets and feeling the grains of sand disappear between the fingers of my palms, are the times when I want to hell with this space between us. I want the tides to gush it away. I want that the horizon envelope it into it’s journey into nothingness. And yet, I want it there. It’s a paradoxical dilemma, with no right answer.
But finally, it is oddly comforting to know that there is something between us; a sort of pull. Something you always do to me and I to you.
As we are learning to fly, we may have reached for the secrets too soon, we may have worn out our welcome with random precision, but as strangers, legends, prisoners or diamonds, we shine forever, baby.”
P.S: Recently, I’ve not been able to dedicate a lot of time to writing. Most of these narratives have been written in the past but are very close to my heart.
Until next time, XOXO
Moms aren't Gentlemen 