Prose | Niyati Bali
Archaic kisses dress my body. As I take in every inch of my surroundings, the creaks enclose time that passes. I've seen it all. The tears of joy, hugs of comfort and even the wrath of storms. Drowning in desolation, all I strive for is worth.
Been there since the inception of aged transitions. Sitting placidly in the abode of wood. A witness to chaos, tears and ultimate bliss. For a moment I could affirm that time is a construct. For a mere slave of nostalgia, hope and memories is all I dwell on. In the rare grasps of human skin, I embodied all I needed to survive- life is a funny thing when all you know is to hopelessly serve. To a sore sight, mundane happenstances are everything.
I learnt though, that one must not feel dejected for the fleeting nature of circumstances, rather be grateful for its fragility. The uncertainty of breath keeps you going, moves you to appreciate each touch. I'm no expert either but I do happen to know a thing or two about momentary existence. I'm forever ingrained in the warmth that I imparted. The cracks are my testament to survival. I cherish them until- until they become the very cause of my dissipation.