I never understood how people love to walk barefoot on blades of grass. To me, they are like scattered memories, like pointed tongues. I pull my feet from my slippers and the pointed foliage pricks my skin - and I wonder:
Does he ever prick your god-like heart?
You are sipping the local tea mixed with peppermint. Cool and green. Its scent brings me back to his eyes. A shade deeper than yours. Like emerald. Like our bed frame. Like these garden chairs. Like the top I am wearing. Like the only colour of sea glass our son collects.
You yawn and your eyes crinkle. You leave the chair to kiss my forehead. You linger for too long. Wet lips on my warm skin. It makes me want to pull away. But I don't. You look at me with your soft eyes burning with passion. Sometimes, I fear you can read my thoughts. Like yarn unspooling. Like a story unraveling after the protagonist leaves. Like the real movie playing after the credits stop rolling.
Your gaze traces my clenched jaw and I relax it. It is not that I don't love you. But he will always be to me what I will always be to you. Which makes me pity you. All I want to do is howl and pull out the moon in broad daylight to witness.
Your face blurs through the mist swimming in my eyes. I let a tear roll away. I am tired of pretending. You don't ask. You just nod. When you finally open your eyes, you don't let me see them. Instead, you tell me that you love me while burying your face in my hair. Your voice is muffled. I can only make out you saying my name again and again. As a whisper. As a sigh.
“Let's dance”, you say. You hum and my feet move over the dew-covered garden. There is a chill in the air which brings our bodies closer. I can smell your aftershave. I can smell your heart. I can smell your yearning.
You tower over me like the sky wearing the same cotton shirt. This lavender garment that I bought you is fading, but you still wear it often. You say it is because of the date. You love holding on to meaningless mementos. Like a customized black and white birthday cake. Or a gift from me in my favorite color. Or an absentminded smile.
You do not let any moment go to waste. Everything that is yours is as precious to me as water, you say. You write me poems. You honour me. You value me. You have exalted me in writing, conversation, and life.
You unlock your fingers as soon as our son comes running with his football. You are perfect. Like a Greek god. Your tragedy is perfect too. Our tragedy.
You place the ball under the hose and it gurgles out water. You have that glint in your eye again as you raise one eyebrow. I take back one step and mouth, “No”', while I laugh.
“Water fight, water fight, water fight!” our son shouts.
You aim at me and the water deepens the green of my shirt. And it is perfect. This shade. The perfect color of his eyes.
I gasp.
Our son takes away the hose from you and drenches you. You pretend to be hit hard and lie flat on your back. Sprawled on all fours.
You are the perfect father.
You are the perfect husband.
And I love it all so much that I almost hate you.
Naz! Walking on grass is soft and lovely... let it just be what it is 😂
Intense and complicated - that is the destiny of relationships!!! I like how you kept the tension till the end...