Scenes Of Omission*

Clutter plagues my floor. Half-read quarterlies heave, face down, abiding the cruelty of parquet. Their spines angle—beckoning, echoing the paleness of the ceiling. I remain ignorant; oblivious to their grudges and mournings. They are silent mirrors, jumbled pyramids loitering in disarray - squadrons of cumbersome paper hills, hoarding dusts, noiselessly. Even empty bottles, dwellers of random corners, remain dormant—their embarrassments concealed by creased underwears; their apologies veiled by blemished shirts carrying pristine memories of former holidays. This is where I remember you. You, and your fictions of seahorses that dream eternally. I would repeat to such abundant, aching redundancy your breathless, restless narratives, aquatic fables and drifting reveries. We shall dance, tonight, in my sleep. Our steps floating casually; our whispers melting, like mislaid echoes, dissipating faraway.

( * remembering E )