Saturday, September 24, 2005

This may still be relevant

K.

My name is Khairil.

Am I K in your book?*

Therein lies my hope. To grace the pages of your history. However insignificant the chapter is. However transient.

To draw your attention I must withhold mine. Aloofness is my weapon, though every turn of my face against yours would strain my neck as if it is tautly leashed to the gaze of your saucer-like eyes.

Thus aloofness is your weapon too, deprive me of trivial hellos and wretched I shall be. Pat my arm to signify goodbye or peck my thigh for ‘goodnight’, and I shall sleep like a toddler content with a day’s worth of attention seeking tantrums.

For your attention is precious, like water to a stranded traveler. I cup my hands secretly to drink it in, and if it trickles through my fingers I shall trail them to my forearms, my tongue like dogs on a fox hunt.

Why did I give you away? Maybe an unspoken “You were on loan till I get back”. My heart was guarded up by idealisms, restrained by memories, pent-up emotions building all these years. Only to surface when your anchor is dropped. Is it too late? Maybe. And yet you still bobbed towards me. A restrained partiality. You, like me, are on a leash. That leash was built on the fact that your other current half was a spectator of your life’s events. But tell me, does land owners spectators make?

Who lays the rules who should be loved? Why, in a world full of wrongs one should be rightly loved?

I would still be waiting then, for ideal grounds where one stood when one is 18 would not necessarily be firmly held when one is 3, nay 9 years older.

Waiting, but in the meantime kill time. ( I can’t just let you have all the fun can I?)

Call me Dorian Gray.




* from The English Patient