what’s love got to do with it?

04Aug08

“Innocence,” he whispered, bringing her close inside his arms. He moved his hand over her hair and brought a finger, rough, upon her lower lip. “There is not but truth that has come out of this mouth.” She looked back at him, uncertain. “But there is one truth you have not yet spoken.”

 

“Wo kiya?” Her brows hovered over, guarding what was left of her innocence. She did not take him seriously anymore. He was a drunkard. An old lover, who spent more of his nights mourning over painful sentences and mumbling in the dark about dirt and water.

 

“Eik galtee,” He asked her permission, “Bolu?”

 

“Ji. Boliyay.” A door half-way open now, to an almost empty home. A home where she sweeps the floor to keep busy. A floor where he sleeps each night. And day. This is the current of their daily routine. The housekeeper. And the homeless.

 

He smiled at her answer, as if it was the moment before he first gave unto her.

 

“You have given me all the virtues that exist in this world. Siwaiy, piyaar.”

 

To this, a fire engulfed her cavity, her nose flared, and her brows gave way to piercing eyes.

 

“Piyaar?” She questioned him. “I have given you your dues already. You’ve put me on a scale, where I am weighed against the pain you chose to carry. Piyaar? How can piyaar suffice on this forsaken scale? What piyaar can I give that can balance this scale?”

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