I have never been through these walls,they are high and narrow almost choking my words and blinding the gaze which bound him. I was an wanderer, sublime, my words were always fighting these walls of morals, high very high they stood.
One fine evening a storm came, creaking, cracking the bricks they fell on the river of insanity. The splash was huge and the wall started to tumble. My valley was full then, with faces and figures, glasses and plates too. The river was swelling and puffing with rage and I was scared, hopelessly trying to bind him with a gaze. I pushed aside all that came in between me and him, fiercely guarding but losing it all, still trying to hold him with my gaze. ample though, they were less. I felt like crying as my gaze was dusted by the storm but I still fought with a heavy head, standing on the banks with trembling feet when the insane water made it’s way to me,coiling up inside, twitching all I had to spill the words out.
I lost, lost my gaze, still trying to grab it all but the storm had left behind only the silt, that slipped out of my grip. I fought, it pained, I was hurt, wounded and I was bleeding, heavily but no-one noticed, not even him, no, the river water had gulped them down.
I left fast, not looking back, I ran to my place still holding him onto my mind, painting the sketches of the emotive face, the smile, the sincere yet dreamy eyes, the bow like thin lips giving it’s way to the deep voice whenever he spoke, those lazy strands of hair that blanketed his forehead and his gaze too, I painted effortlessly on the canvas of my foolish mind until all the colors dried up.