-Pieces of a diaryHe often admits that I am his 'spirit of the west'. I never could understand the real meaning of it. Never was I bothered to ask. When I am reading a novel on the jute chair in balcony, he sips his tea and stares at me for long. Long enough that I start ignoring. His never ending staring gives me palpitations.
We have a routine of star-gazing every Saturday evening when we try to count the stars on night ink blue sky. He barely looks at the infinite blanket. His eyes affixed upon me. He says am the star that he wants to count on forever. I wonder from where he brings his words that send me a jolt. Things to which I cannot think of replying.
I remember the first time we had gone for lunch when he was so afraid to hold my hand. A fragile look all across his face. Not fragile of hurt manliness. But that of a fragile love which could be broken with any miss-happening or wrong interpretation. That phase has passed though.
I dont know how much time we have spent together. I have stopped keeping track of time. He never lets me. 'We keep track of something which is about to expire', he'd say frequently. I dont argue much with him on this topic. I can only pass a smile.
He makes me feel like am the only woman he knows. Like he is fond of me like the gem keeper. Who even though is surrounded by many gems yet his favorite can only be one. One, which he keeps polishing such that it never loses its shine. His eyes full of admiration. Hair on my hands stands when I hear him say things like these. When he compares me with a nightingale, or something even beyond the definition of beauty, I lack words. Now I have stopped finding words for such allegory.
He only wants a smile in return.
I have never seen love like this before. Is is for real?