Off I go…

She was standing by the huge window surrounded by million particles of star dust. Dressed in a Vivienne Westwood from top to bottom, hair drawn up in a bow, her bare neck was inviting me, to hold her firmly by the built in corset and free her from her silk incarceration. Sun’s rays fell down on her arms. She stood there bracing the light, with her head held up high. Her body appeared to be painted in sun lit gold with white silk embroidered over it.

“It’s time” she said.

Beguiled by her beauty, I was brought back to reality. It all came back to me; my throat was inundated with emotions. I tried to say something but words betrayed me. Tears were ready to spill over my calloused cheeks. She brushed pass me without a glance.

I tried to move in order to stop her but I was not in control, she was. The blistering particles of star dust that once touched every part of her body caught hold of me, making me a prisoner of my own desires. Each blistering particle carried a memory; bursting into fireworks every now and then. I saw my life with her, through these magic tricks. Those loose ends took a flight and created an image of her by the window in order to fool me.

I bathed in the sun lit memories of us together. The day we first met, the day I spoke to her for the very first time, our first date, first song, first touch and our first kiss under the Tuscan sun, it was there the whole time staring at me. I remembered the day Peter proposed to her. She called me up the same night at quarter after one. I see it all around me; all I need to do is surrender.”

I see our love the way she sees it. The way I was supposed to see four years back. A sudden urge to stop her in her tracks emerged and I tried to break her magical spell but all was in vain. My ego was too strong to bow down. She was gone. I tried to find the source of her spell; it was the sun, feeding these millions of particles with memories.

I looked into her eyes and pleaded, “Forgive me, Please.”

Suddenly the curtains were drawn over the window, blocking the sun and freeing me from my shackles. I ran towards the chapel. Holding a bouquet with both hands, she was about to walk down the aisle. Bridal Chorus by Richard Wagner was playing inside. I caught hold of her hand and pulled her close to my body as if what my words couldn’t convey, my body will. With inner brow raised and jaw dropped, I shouted “Don’t”, “Don’t”, “Don’t” raising my voice with every syllable.

She kissed my lips soaked in my own tears; the acerbic taste of my epiphany met her cherry chapped lips. It was the last kiss goodbye. She took a flight as her kiss tied me down. Off she goes and here I fall. From the floor, on my bruised knees I saw her walk down the aisle and say “I Do.”

Bhanuj Saharan.