Ch 3 : A truth Foreseen.

The Mind was bending.

Slowly but surely. Or so I thought. I could feel it change its course many times a minute. Always eager to add weight onto itself, a cargo that had credence to back its weight. And somewhere beneath the vast stretches of its imagination, it was losing ground. Or perhaps I should say forging ground of an alien landscape.

When I look back into the past, I see a glorious nothing. Everything feels different. Obviously I must have lost some insecurities but it is a fact that I have gained some too. But everything gained was again too subtle for anyone to point a finger at. It was like I was towering into a world of insecurities, insecure, but who could tell? Maybe some could, but they had too little information to back their claims for I kept my life a daft secret. A closely guarded set of lies that banked on the the weakness of my opponents, if I had any, but which I suspect I did, than my own strength.

It was not a reputation I desired, but a fortress I needed. It is not easy being a man in this world, worse of the world. But one could desire the joy of anonymity, standing on the edge of the being. By the force of the personality one projects. People buy it, this strength of the mute noise.

I had developed it shortly after Kaia left. Actually she never left, but it was I who thought I was forsaken. A mere burden dropped in search of light and lightness. But do such things exist? Yes, they do, but how many would know?

For years, I knew where she was. I knew when she cried, I knew when she laughed. I even knew when she cramped. It was like the air carried a myseterious memory as it wafted across the familiar landscapes. Or perhaps I was busy imagining things while I was not living. This is the quality of forsakenness I suppose. Your senses become sharper every time you draw the curtain and there is no light entering and you have nothing you can call as certain. Except the breathing body scavenging on the mysteries of the air.

The mind was bending. But you even question that, and dismiss it as an idle mind unwilling to be certain. For where is the mind really? Have you seen mine? I have certainly not seen yours. But there is something in you that I can draw my breath from and love like an obsession. Like a slow flame lingering on the periphery of an open furnace, drawing you closer with the promise of making you malleable, beautiful. But when the cast is made, you look around. Its a wonder and astonishment that you look just the same. Only more flawed. Or perhaps only aware of your flaws. And that becomes the beginning of your currency of exchange. Or does it? I am no longer sure now. I can see now flaws at all. Maybe because I cannot see the bench mark for perfection.

A few years later I heard of her. That she was now a hooker. Screwing for money. Oddly, I was told she had no fixed price. She would let the man be the man and pay for what he thought he got. Many would snigger that she was the one to go when a man had little money. But invariably, they would go back when they had abundance. For some reason, what everyone got from her was far more than what they could return in any case. I am sure she would maintain that she gave nothing to anyone. For there was nothing to give or even for that matter take.

I had loads of money, but it was never sufficient; for my weak judgement, how can I have enough money to pay what I would get? Besides, I wouldn't really know what to do if I took her to the bed or if she would talk to me if I didn't. Her body as I remembered was as frail as beautiful. One could not even read her eyes, for they had nothing in them to read. Her smile was rare, but was gentle when it came. Symbolic of a recognition of ones flaws. It was hard to describe. It would make a different story every time it came on the same face. But mostly, it was a friendly jab to having caught the thief one is capable of becoming. Thief who took nothing but desired everything.

She had once let me kiss her. A long time ago. I could feel an outpouring of affection, and the kiss was gentle. I can't remember if we made love that night, but the kiss lingered. A taste one could not forget for its overpowering sense of euphoria.

In any case, I never went to her. But had collected all the memorabilia of her trysts with random men. There was a lot to collect, because men always had something of her with them to share. I was not jealous beyond a point, I was not worried beyond a point. But I would cry. And that was the crack that I had to save and hide. It was precious, as much as her and private. Appearances are just what they should be, we almost always make the deception in our own minds.

Over time I had taken many lovers. Taken must be the word, because nothing was really given. Just an illusion. Lovers, that I gave the luxury of saying goodbyes. Often on flimsy grounds, but it was a luxury given anyhow. As assumption on which everything rested while the taking lasted and the returning was to begin yet.

Once in a while they would drop by, in guarded suspicion. To check on me, and see if the cracks were still open. It was a confirmation of their own charms, it was an unwritten agreement drafted in some recess of memory that is not to be acknowledged, just exchanged in silence. I was never to be in doubt of who was meant to be the superior. Yes, I never was, but it didn't weigh too much on my being for that wafted away lightly. A feather could take only a certain weight by itself and not crumble, but left to itself, it could perhaps travel the world. Not that it was self willed, but a recognition that traveling the world is really over rated. All one needs is the wind to catch on. And sometimes fan the flames as a gentle mercy.

It was all known. It was all true. This world I saw and dreamt of seeing. Today was a truth foreseen. But I don't know what made it worthwhile, the wait, the cracks, the bending mind or the possibility of seeing her again.

My Kaia.