It seems like my words have just been reduced to one woman. When I write to her my heart turns into oceans and my words to shores. All the ocean knows is to come back to the shore, with no two waves alike. I can describe her almost perfectly.. from the spontaneous energy in her kajal-eyes to her beautiful fingers, and to that faint scar on her forehead. She talks of some great people and madness. She smells of euphoria and happiness. Her eyes look of intellect and soulful desire. She listens to my life. She makes me long to lie with her. And when she looks at the low moon in the winter sky surrounded by the mountains of forever -my words just can't stop spinning. Every time this moon shines, it witnesses the overwhelming emotion in my heart, and perhaps it nods at my determination to hold her tighter than time.
I want to write something heart-wrenching beautiful. I want to write something that would crawl under the readers' skin and reduce their souls to shreds. I want to write with the longing that we dare not talk about, the suffering that we carefully tuck away between layers and layers of darkness and secrets. I want my words to dance on their wildest imagination; crack their hearts open so that new light can shine through. But I am just useless.
Lately, I write to find that moment - the moment that led to me this madness.
-omi
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