in between the crumpled fragrance of candlelight and the half-awake, half-sleepy candlelit loadshdding evenings, you bartered my stories for all those little mellow smiles that i so proudly flaunt. we were a rubble that evening, all we had was a handful of giggles shared on a rickshaw in a paradise town and a few random photographs. then, during the long walk back to the haunted mansion we saw millions of stars, constellations up in the sky. i think i wrapped the sky around myself, shrouding myself completely, blinding myself, totally oblivious to people and places. all i want is you.

the candlelight brought us closer, i think. and somehow, i want to bottle up the moonbeams that touched your face so gently. your fragrance also. and store them up in the old cupboard like memories in photographs. your eyes reek of a love i've never felt before and your whispers carry the scent of a dream that we are both knitting with much fervour. there is a quietude outside this very room. a kind of pindrop silence that almost gives me a fright. in between these moments, you hold me close - our eyes capturing every one of those nude trices that come alive only in fairytale lovestories, something you'd never be able to understand; something i'd never be able to explain to you.

you peel off my pretences slowly, carelessly. and all i can do is nurse a delicious little agony inside. i stare into those huge hazel eyes, and wonder if you are just a couldhavebeen, just an ephemeral happiness. but your love hushes my anxieties. you bring a kind of neverland to me, and yet, you give me little boxes of reality, of logic when you paint us for me. in this candlelight, we are a space between a you and a me - a time wonderfully suspended between the months of september and october, a music in the bewildered mirrors of december.

the candlelight writes a never-to-be-read lovestory on its flames tonight. we are a memory. to be cherished forever, and somehow, it makes me wonder why everytime i try to run away from you a little, you know me a little more. it is a kind of newfound freedom that takes away all the pain from bonding. somehow, when you bind me, i fly a little higher.

We are running around in circles in pursuit of the maddening season of songs and love. Just like ripples. We are in a crowd, dying to find each other. We are in each other's shoes, living each other's stories, yet we don't know us. We are dying, I think. Dying out of sight. Living on morbid whispers. Just whispers that once had the fragrance of a sunshine we basked in. You sit beside my tainted reflection and wonder why your dusks are not like your dawns, and why we use this season of careless whispers to dream and talk to our own shadows. I ask the mouth of sky inside me why it is falling and how the stars just died out. And, we let us fade away; we are being gnawed away silently by the ebony darkness we ourselves created for our comfort. We are the debris of our own hopes and dreams, deadened even more by our wishful thinking.

I think we are running around in circles in pursuit of the maddening songs and love. We are waiting for spring. We'll sail through this. We'll shine on.