A
fell bent of mind is upon him. I can speak no words of solace to
comfort him. We have been geeky amigos since childhood. Perhaps my pen
can deliver the fluid balm he needs and soothe his agitated soul. Ever
since we learned to write, we wrote as often and as naturally as fish
swim or eagles fly. This letter, though, had to be special. The thrill
and the subtle inspiration should let him get over the malady that has
been bothering him.
Took out the feather that he gifted me when we once set out on a trek amidst the woods. I have been using that as a bookmark to explore the book-bound worlds we cherished together. As I fondled it’s soft texture, I realized how symbolic my friend can be, whose gift tokenism depicted both my sensitivity and my ordered synchronization of thoughts.
I set to shave off a few fibers at the tip with a sharp blade, and I was reminded of the miracles we created together to expand our minds. Our outings were in the libraries and the coffee shops on how to read, dissect and rewrite. Learning sessions they were, still are. We grew together as individuals and that growth has brought in many combinations of our reflexes. Leaving the feather in a bowl of water for an hour, I was lost in the heaps of notes we wrote together. There were more red ovals than tick marks, I smiled as he never tried to flatter me. The only way to grow is to re-do the gray areas, his voice echoed as the sweetness of the yellowed papers tinged my nostrils.
I tapered the feather-tip as an archer treating her arrow-head. A 45 degree cut is made to it, twice. When the edge became sharp, like his ideas, I created a split in the end, which resembled his divided past. Bending those two horns together, I was recollecting how our silent eye-gazing exercises has brought us to points of no return. With his wife dead last week, he had become a paranoid. I wanted him to know that I appreciate his tastes and decisions, and so the feather was now adorned with wavy streaks of wood brown, his favorite color. SIGH. I have made my gift ready.
A Quill. And some Papyrus rolls for the pulp representation of my soul.
Took out the feather that he gifted me when we once set out on a trek amidst the woods. I have been using that as a bookmark to explore the book-bound worlds we cherished together. As I fondled it’s soft texture, I realized how symbolic my friend can be, whose gift tokenism depicted both my sensitivity and my ordered synchronization of thoughts.
I set to shave off a few fibers at the tip with a sharp blade, and I was reminded of the miracles we created together to expand our minds. Our outings were in the libraries and the coffee shops on how to read, dissect and rewrite. Learning sessions they were, still are. We grew together as individuals and that growth has brought in many combinations of our reflexes. Leaving the feather in a bowl of water for an hour, I was lost in the heaps of notes we wrote together. There were more red ovals than tick marks, I smiled as he never tried to flatter me. The only way to grow is to re-do the gray areas, his voice echoed as the sweetness of the yellowed papers tinged my nostrils.
I tapered the feather-tip as an archer treating her arrow-head. A 45 degree cut is made to it, twice. When the edge became sharp, like his ideas, I created a split in the end, which resembled his divided past. Bending those two horns together, I was recollecting how our silent eye-gazing exercises has brought us to points of no return. With his wife dead last week, he had become a paranoid. I wanted him to know that I appreciate his tastes and decisions, and so the feather was now adorned with wavy streaks of wood brown, his favorite color. SIGH. I have made my gift ready.
A Quill. And some Papyrus rolls for the pulp representation of my soul.
“ Σε λατρεύω my star! It’s all melancholy, pondering over how we should take things forward. But, do you realize....”
I was scribbling for long, before I knew I was staining the sheets. With tears. I am so proud of my dear friend, for choosing to be the master of your own universe.
As I was putting on my overcoat, heading to visit him, I was thrown into apprehensive future anticipations. Would he think that I mistook him? Would he fear sharing his contemplations in the times to come?
Ha ! I tittered. Deep down, I knew he would kiss the papyrus rolls and the quill, and give me a million dollar smile, with those ink-stained lips.
I was scribbling for long, before I knew I was staining the sheets. With tears. I am so proud of my dear friend, for choosing to be the master of your own universe.
As I was putting on my overcoat, heading to visit him, I was thrown into apprehensive future anticipations. Would he think that I mistook him? Would he fear sharing his contemplations in the times to come?
Ha ! I tittered. Deep down, I knew he would kiss the papyrus rolls and the quill, and give me a million dollar smile, with those ink-stained lips.
# Reposting from my Quora Blog - http://threeminutestories.quora.com/Ink-stain
