Pale black

It’s been several hours since she departed. It’s unbelievable how radiant the sun is now. It seems like he is genuinely happy, as if he has finally moved on. Or is it all just a facade for the clouds that have come to visit? Or it his way of pushing the memories far away? Shine so bright that they can’t come close.

But even if the glaring rays are a result of his  joy, what will he feel when he has to leave, knowing that in a few moments, the moon will appear in the same spot? What sort of chaos will take over his mind when he would feel her presence nearby, but unable to steal a single glance? Maybe one, if he’s fortunate.

However much perpetual his ‘happiness’ may seem in the day, it all comes crumbling down when the sky darkens. They may be eternal, but their happiness forever ephemeral.

They are separated by only a few minutes on the clock.

Pale Blue

A rare occurrence, the sun and the moon got a little time together today. However, the moon is fading away at a steady rate while the sun is glowing with power, or maybe it is sorrow.

As she says goodbye, leaving behind nothing but a wisp of a cherished memory in the azure sky, the sun sobs, its tears, the rays, falling down upon us. They hope to meet again someday, when they’re slightly older and find a way to evade past their strict schedules—day and night, dawn and dusk, from light to dark, and from dark to light.

I’m thinking, as I look around the light that surrounds me, a favour from the sun, that maybe sometimes tears aren’t so bad after all. Maybe it’s the universe’s way of showing us the light or in this case, making us show it to someone else.

A Dairy Rendezvous

Ever since the years of my childhood, I have always had a bizarre fascination towards the profession of a milkman. I would peek through the windows a little after dawn, when the first rays of sunlight streaked in, waiting for the local milkman to pass by on his blue bicycle, armed with a dozen milk cartons and bottles. I even developed a habit of waiting at the front porch for him to receive the usual two bottles of milk at my house.

“How are you doing today?” he’d always ask.

“I’m fine.” I’d mumble awkwardly.

And then he’d walk away coolly, headed to the next house. I noticed how content he always seemed with his job of delivery service. The fact that some looked down upon his “odd” or “blue collar” job never did seem to faze him. He walked with his head held high and a perpetual beam on his face.

Once, he told me how much he loved meeting new people, seeing new faces. Ironic—his work required him to look at the same faces everyday. But his job did teach him to see, not just to look. He might have had to look at the same face everyday, but each morning, he saw a different person.

You’re never the same person two days in a row.