Oblivious And Tangled

Two A.M. ; Cigar Thoughts

Going with the conventionals was never her thing. She never understood the obssessions with forever and infinities, the addiction of kisses or the hype about two A.M.'s and four A.M.'s. For her, life was much more than this. She was the girl who lived in phrases-obliviously tangled, cigar thoughts, imprecise intimacy and raging fire. So when he pulled her into him, his hands snaking around her small waist, his brown eyes never leaving her sea green orbs, she could not help but feel something fluttering within her-the conventional butterflies. Maybe it was in the way he leaned in, or maybe it was in the passion with which his lips met hers, she could not help but feel addicted to his kiss. She was so lost into him that when he pulled back to catch his breath, she felt cold without him already.

Or maybe, it was in the way he accepted her as a mess, yet again. He knew she was a mess, broken at places that could never be healed, that she was a walking definition of paradox. And when she kept all the pieces of her past infront of him like pages of a torn classic book, he could not help but feel the invisible trust crawl up and rest on his shoulders. A paradox that she was, began with the memories she was scarred with. Memories of an unhappy childhood, an awkward teenage and a messed up life. She was scarred with cigar burns on her hands, a mark of the punishment she faced for never being good enough. And yet, she was addicted to smoking. She used to hate smoking, cigars and smokers but then she, she was one too. She was a breathing puzzle with no solution whatsoever.

Slowly, he had seen her unravel herself, displaying her fears, insecurities, memories and pain like she did not care about them. She could see her eyes reflect her trust or could hear it in her voice when she called him and cried because she was never good enough.

And all this was till he left. She was there, waiting with a smile because she knew that she was where he belonged. She knew he was her home but she was his too. And she knew his wanderlust was too much to make him stay, so she let him go to wander and waited for him to find his way back home.

And when he returned back home, all he could do was smack their lips together because he could finally see where he belonged. The painful journey of finding his way back to home, left a pain building in his chest which somehow vanished when he finally held her again, after all those months. He was a fool-he knew. He was a fool to prove it again to her that men are untrustworthy, disappointing souls. He was a fool to make her live in the depressing two A.M.and four A.M.thoughts.
All her life, she hated men with an unsurpassed passion and he, he wanted to change it for her. He knew he could make her see that not all men were bad, but his wanderlust was too much to make him stay, and he was always guilty for that.

So, seconds into their kiss, he was glad he could feel her crumbling. He could see the walls she made break down brick by brick, with her own will, her eyes suddenly welling up with emotions. He could taste her-she tasted of cigars, a new addiction she had developed after he left. But then again, she tasted like herself, like fire, passion, determination and like a fighter. She tasted like a warrior fighting her battle waiting for him to return and that day, he was glad he did.