Story -

Picking It From Scratch

Picking It From Scratch

My eyes weren’t off her yet. The ink that ran through my veins screamed to draw the portrait of Juliet with her picture. The question of whether I was Romeo enough and the right person to pick a brush kept the ink stagnated. Not a word came from either of our mouths as to how we saw each other in the eyes. The past had passed but the present bore the scars of its errors. Although she didn’t hide the piece left of her that she still wanted to share, my mind was inundated with guilt. I was afraid. I was unworthy to ask from her, anything. Silence on events of yesterday was a heavy cloth under which my shame was covered. It was better than expressing what I started feeling for her. All the dreams I had of her stayed in my sleep. The closest I could go was to tell her of my wishes—not to ask of anything I didn’t deserve. I told her of the commitments of old that poured from her whole heart that I wish we could share. I told her I wish I could live in the future with her. I told her my intentions are pure but I know I’m not worth her price; and all the beautiful words that my defeated self could gather. She listened but never altered an alphabet in response. All she did was to nod in indifference. Her brain was a puzzle. Her action was a map.