Sakura

‘The dusk breeze is carrying the scent of orange jasmines. I can sense the first sign of Spring in soft whispers of the lime green leaves,’ she said aloud in a manner that appeared to be a declaration rather than a statement. Not knowing how exactly the flowers smelt, he decided the air must smell the way she it. It was a Cool, crisp, cinnamon-y breeze, which were drying the droplets of sweat off his forehead. It wasn’t a particularly warm dusk but he had been out all day, absorbing the sun’s blazing enthusiasm and copious amount of cigarette smoke. He was going through one packet a day, nonchalantly, like a kid would with a packet of gummy bears, without any worry. Momentarily,he wanted to blow a ring of smoke into the clean air before him. It was Springtime, in all its marvel and this particular dusk was sneaking upon them, like an untimely rain at summer noontime. In the bluebell haze of this pleasant coming of age evening, they walked past nondescript small houses, Bougainvillea trees slouching onto the sidewalk, filling sight with various signs of the season. A wave of sadness crept upon her as she involuntary invited thoughts of a future without the man that listlessly dragged his breathe with each cigarette smoke. She also thought and spoke out , 'how wonderful it is to fall in love when the world is blooming—Every slip in time, every frown, every sigh, is ripe like a constant throb, a cut waiting to be licked. ' He nodded.

Readers, imagine two people: however, suiting to your collective preference of physical beauty, in any permutation and combination or wait, no. Ladies and Gentleman, I present a man and a woman, in full bloom: in an extended expansion of petals and buds, wanton pollens drifting alight with a hint of floral and musk. Every love makes you an adolescent again, a neurotic scrambling of mature desires. Imagine them bloodied from the arrows of divine intervention. It was only a few days ago, that they had decided of their own volition that they shall be falling in love, and especially with each other. Splendid, it was, this decision taken at dawn after a sleepless nocturne had passed, catatonic hearts milling about in different rooms. As she walked briskly, she put forth information about her that she wanted him to register— how she liked times of transition, how one evening whilst one of her solitary walks the air smelt different, how she had forgotten the sensation of holding hands in chilly December evenings, how she had become okay with her loneliness. He listened, waited for his turn and spoke back. The conversation oscillated back and forth like a scheduled call to a customer asking for a feedback but with the human warmth of intimacy. The birds cooed and cawed with a bubbling energy at having found the strength for the night. They both searched the sky for a sign: a string of a cloud, a fume trail, the coral end of a melting sun. They took their turns to look at each other—gazes enveloped in an affectionate milkiness, making a mental map of their faces. He was registering the shape of an earlobe, a reckless strand of hair drifting in the breeze, the nobility of a roman nose set against a pubescent smile. His eyes darted into space as soon it reached the hollow of her neck and a spasm began to grow in his chest. She unknowingly picked it up from he left off, tracing and mapping territories of flesh; of skin and bones, grazing past stubbles and arches, stepping into treacherous waves of kindred eyes. Words were foaming at her mind, phrases became sentences, sentences were strung like beads and she felt she was strung tight like a bow, waiting to shoot and burst into million particles akin to a shooting star. Love was making its way into lines of her poetries; her poetries were caught behind the tree that kept guard of them. Like lonely children of moon, they awaited a lunar synthesis, a collective transformation at midnight. The world that waited to swallow them whole in the volcanoes of reality, fangs bared with bloodthirst, was with a pregnant insidious intent. But they both thought to themselves:

She could become a wild faerie; he could become a Satyr and together they could unfold their own myth. Transgressions and mating cry by a haunting lake in the wilderness were in the fortunes. Perhaps, they wanted to turn into Maenads in a frenzied mirth intoxicated by a sense of freedom that the only the spirit of the savage beasts will only allow to happen. The fire raged silently in a carnal wildfire. After all, love is all but savage isn't it?

***

According to the Greek myth of Hades and Persephone, when Persephone returned to the Earth, it would be Spring time and when she descended to the underworld back to Hades, it would be Winter. Perhaps, Love also worked the same way— It is Spring time when you are in love. Like buttery canary of a gleeful sun on your arms, touching you softly and moving away. Suddenly, this thought of love left him feeling as if he was lucid dreaming; that he had conjured her up from the inner crevices of his mind and it is not him who is there but a faceless reflection of his. And therefore, he couldn’t speak. The other guy, the one felt he was dreaming about, failed measurably at seizing the moment. He wanted to say things he had not said to women in a long time, his knowledge priori connected to all the reserve of his experiences with women had suddenly erased itself. The face of a lost lover had started to retrograde like a washed off film picture. Instead, the image of the woman beside him, the face he was seeing now, had replaced women of his memories, photographs embedded in his psyche, and was muddling into a psychedelic mush of things. He felt like he was watching himself in a movie but he could only think, not speak. Somewhere, a strange shift in the air took place. He felt had he woken up from a seven sleepers’ slumber. In a moment’s repose, he regained his sensations and felt strangely relieved. Something warm was resting against his arm, a faint smell of perfume struck his olfactory nerves and his palms slightly sensed a pulse of a vibrant life. He was here and he found himself again, and his voice back. He lowered his eyes onto ground, of four pairs of feet scrunching up dead flowers. It occurred to him at that moment, he is going to remember every microcosmic particle of this warp in Timespace for a long time from today. She suddenly shook away the last unruly hair off her face and looked at him in a mischievous glance akin to someone who lets in that she knows a common secret. As he followed her unto the end of a street, wishing it would never end he felt a sting at the back of his neck. Simultaneously, she felt a tug at her hem, a ringing in her ears. Slightly dazed, they made their way into the cobalt unknown of a thrilling night. Hungry, for something greater than the taste of flesh and wine, they spent the evening looking at their reflections in the stars.

***

Somewhere a whoosh in air had sounded and a figure had flown past a scarcely populated street. An apparition behind rose bushes scuffled in muffled laughter and hurried to depart a cryptic message. As the sun yawned himself to sleep, the trees rested their trunks against a bed of daisies. The old gods had stopped hearing the soft cries of two lost children. Ladies, gentlemen and readers, the universe had come to play.