The last time butterflies fluttered in my thoughts was the night it had rained. I remember it was dark outside the window. But my eyes were lit. There was silence in my room. But the heartbeats sang along to the falling music from the sky.
There’s a chaos of possibilities today. The rooms are well lit too. Yet, why do I find myself a stranger here? Perhaps, I am a stranger to me too.
Do you have hands long enough to pull my mind out of this chaos? Do you know a place where drizzle tiptoes?
Right at the edge of the cliff, I sit next to you. Our feet lost in the sea of mist, not caring to stand and run taking a cue from time.
On days amid the chaos, perhaps, you try to talk too smart. And I laugh too hard. Are you capable of a silence comfortable enough that allows us both to shut up?
Do you know how not to belong anywhere, but just stay there forever? Like the earth existing relentlessly and the oak rooted into Her womb.
The wisdom of chaos might call these the rantings of a mad woman. Are you bold enough to strip me off the stranger whom I wear to meet this chaos everyday?