Yours Yours is not the heady, intoxicating first blushIt does not send me walking on cloudsIt does not set my heart a flutterIt does not make me think idle thoughts of being with you.Yours is the call to arms of all my sensesIt breaks me from my dreamsIt stops the music from playingIt sharpens the visionIt unclutters the mindYours frees me from mineSo that mine can be yoursAs it should be, forever, wherever and whenever Prelude to One Week. Greetings.I'm a long dormant nom de plume come back to digital life for one week. Karate Kid IV, Girl Emancipated, call me what you will - I am a ghost of the internet past, so to speak.But I'm back, for one week only, even as I wait for my lover to return. He hasn't left yet, not until tonight, but he's leaving for parts distant and regions foreign. And the process of his leaving makes me feel as if the the lover I long for has vanished, even as he is slipping away, out of my reach. Gone.It is the fear of losing, of loss, worse still than the loss itself. Even if it is, I tell myself, only temporary. But life is short, vicious, brutish in a way that few of us predict.The young presume that they have time.Lovers do as lovers are, premise and presume, blissfully that partings daily are only that - partings, daily.But I have lost that heedlessness of youth, I have been stripped on my mantle as a lover, if only for a week, very early on, of how easy it might have been to lose my love, my lover.So I will wait until his return as I have prayed before his leaving. And I will write to you all in the week pending his return. Day 1: Confirmation Nothing I say, and nothing I do can show you how much I love you.Because I do not control this love that I have for you,I do not own it, neither do you.But still I do my utmost to make sure that I remain in its possessionThis I promise, even though promises mean nothing Day 1: Validation And she knew, at that very instant, that it had all been worth it.The waiting.The anticipating.The wanting.His eyes told her he knew her. But she knew, he was her. Day 2: Anticipation She shivered as she sat by the window, looking out at the busy street. Nervously, she scanned each face as it approached, and then passed by. She did not know what she was looking for. She just knew she would know when she saw him.The froth on her cappucino had long subsided. She looked at her watch. It had been almost an hour since she sat down. She fidgeted with the beads in her hair. She had wanted to be early. Hello stranger.And she looked up into the most captivating pair of eyes she had seen. Captivating jet black eyes. Jet black eyes that were laughing.And she knew. Day 2: Intoxication "I could drink a case of you, still I'd be on my feet"Because I love you, and you love me back,Part of you flows out of me in these things that I do. Day 3: Obsession What's she doing right this moment, I have to know.I have to know because she wants me to know.So what's she doing right this moment?Wanting me to know what she's doing right this moment. Day 3: Devotion One by one she took out all the letters he had written her, smoothening them and then placing them side by side.Soon, her entire floor was covered.Covered with words of love, intimacy and emotion.She lay down on his words and closed her eyes, imagining him lying next to her, holding her, whispering his words of love to her.Soon, she thought to herself, soon. Day 4: Possession "And you can tell your friend there with you, he'll have to go"I want you all to myself, and I want you now.Both ways is how I want it.Always. Day 4: Flirtation Leaning in to whisper into her ear.Knees touching, elbows brushing.Smiling, a slight upturn at the corner of the mouth.Saying nothing, yet everything, with that look. Day 5: Dedication to cummings:i don't know much (except to tell you that i love you)and i carry your heart with me wherever i go.and i carry it in my heart. Day 5: Infatuation Her phone beeped. 1 message received.She opened the message.Good morning stranger.She smiled.I could get used to this, she thought to herself. Day 6: Inspiration My darling junkie's spoon, you areWarm and coldSweet and bitterSoft and hardYou keep my feet off the groundYou alter my state of beingYou keep me hanging around Day 6: Invigoration She looked at the stranger sitting across the table from her. He caught her looking at him, and smiled his boyish grin.She liked how he seemed to read her mind. She liked how he was comfortable with the silences between them. She liked how he made her laugh all the time. The last exactly 7 minutes and 28 seconds ago. And as if on cue, he reached over and tickled her. Day 7: Investigation I looked in the mirror this morning and caught myself smiling.Something's up, and I want to find out what it is. I will call you and ask you out today and we'll see if there's truth in what I saw this morning. Day 7: Destination She excused herself and went to the bathroom to freshen up. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, and was surprised to see a girl giggling back at her. And she giggled again, as the butterflies flitted round her heart once more. So this is what it feels like to go on a date with a stranger.He was leaning against a pillar and looking at her from under his boyish fringe as she walked towards him. She smiled, and moved to brush away the stray strands of hair covering his jet black eyes. Jet black eyes that held her gaze unwaveringly. Jet black eyes that seemed to talk to her. Jet black eyes that said I know you. Don't.He grabbed her wrist, and dropped it just as quickly. She felt her face flush as the jolt of their brief touch subsided. I... Her words trailed off as she looked into his eyes. His jet black eyes.Can I kiss you? they asked.She was not giggling now, even though the mutinous butterflies were threathening to burst out of her wildly beating heart. She could only watch, she did not even dare to blink, as the jet black eyes leaned in, slowly. Yes, she whispered. Yes. Day 8: Concussion You.Knocked.Me off.My feet.Now and, sense make no things to me. Day 8: Submission He put his finger to my lips as he pushed me against the wall. I could feel him through the fabric of my skirt.He kissed me, urgently. I moved to unbutton his shirt, but he grabbed my wrists and pinned them behind me. He kissed me again, this time teasing me lightly with the tip of his tongue. I struggled, but he held me firmly, this time flicking gently against my erect nipples as he pressed himself against me.You are mine, he rasped into my ear.And I cried, as I surrendered to his power. Yes. Day 9: Domination She turned towards the mirror and saw the graceful arch of her silhouette, hips moving, head thrown back.She turned back and looked down into his beautiful eyes. His eyes which held hers, as their breaths merged as one.And she smiled. Day 9: Conviction It starts to rain.Then you feel a drop of rain on the back of your hand.Then you realise you've felt that drop of rain on the back of your hand. Day 10: Shall we apply ourselves (together)? Shall we hold hands?There are discounts.Shall we dance? There are incentives.Shall we kiss?There are rebates.Shall we canoodle?There are grants.Shall we move in together?There are discounts.Shall we take a walk in the park?There are incentives.Shall we share a candlelit dinner?There are rebates.Shall we watch the sunset together?There are grants.Shall we get married, buy a flat and have kids?There are benefits.Shall we fall in love?Discounts, incentives, rebates, grants. Benefits. Discounts, rebates, incentives, grants. Benefits. Day 10: Love, Longing And Everything Between It's the end, almost, of another lazy Sunday afternoon on Amma and Appa's patio, the jungle outside a riot of greenery.We are lying, Him and I, cradled against each other in the chaise lounge, a daybed for all it's size. The air is still, but for a fan whirring noisily in another corner and the slow curls of mosquito incense undulate towards the ceiling as a prayr to the heavens.The chirruping of cicadas herald the early evening even as the light changes, fades, slowly from yellow to orange, then a sudden calm blue. Our magazines have fallen between us, his Jane's Defense Guide and my Economist a tangled heap of paper, limp with the heat of the afternoon just past, the jug of iced tea on the stand sitting in a puddle of it's own perspiration. Our skin a contrast of light and dark.I watch him sleep, mouth ajar, reading glasses askew, hair mussed and stubble shadowing. A slow tenderness, the same as always, rises. There is the sigh of my heart, as I press my lips to his temple, now flecked with grey. I flick my sari pallavi over him, to keep him safe from the ravening mosquitos before I give myself over to sleep utterly, the slightest of smiles curving my lips. Day 9: Of the Future When she awoke, lying in their shared bed, she felt that no time had passed. That time had somehow stilled, or slowed to . Or perhaps only her perception had changed. Nevertheless, she imagined that all that had transpired was that she'd lain down and had but closed her eyes for a moment, an extended blink.Searching for certainty, she groped for the clock on the sideboard and turned the malevolent red face to her, read 4:54. Measuring the hours before she would have to go to work against the probability of her return to sleep, she dismissed sleep.Clear eyed, she sat up in bed, taking in the unfamiliar quiet of the room by moonlight. The soft, calm light of the fading moon filtering through the curtain sheers softened the clean lines of the furniture that she'd chosen with such care at the beginning of their marriage. In the transparent blue tinged light, the restrained, tasteful furniture gave off an air of quiet resignation. She imagined that the room had always had this quality, even when the house had been featured in the National magazine and he'd been inordinately proud of her refinement and that this was the first time she'd be made aware of this.Startled by the realisation the curtains, shifted by the breeze, let in the full glow of the moonlight. Illuminated, walls of the room seemed to shift out and fall away from her and merge with the light and she wondered if she was awake, or dreaming, or dreaming of wakefulness.Struggling, she turned to him and watched the slow rise and fall of his breathing under the sheets. The low hum of his snoring and the even rise and fall of his chest competed with the silent airlessness of the air-conditioner. There was the roundness of his plump, boyish cheeks, even now slightly greasy, that in profile made him look more like a youth of 20 than a man near 40. She thought of the slack roundness above his belly that had appeared in recent years, and the mole on his shoulder. Of the ridged, vertical scars on the inside of both his knees, once angry red, now welts.She spoke, quietly, firmly: My husband has become a good man and a good father. But I do not love him and I never have.Satisfied, she turned to sleep. She would take care of things in the morning. Day 9: The way it shatters Where can I put these?, she asked as I watched her take her things out from her bag.That was as good a death knell as any.I felt sick to the core even as she slowly went about doing the things in my apartment that meant she was moving in with me.That meant we were going to fight every now and then, over whose turn it was to take out the trash, over who forgot to turn off the air-con, over who should pay the bill for the vet's fees for our dog. Over the colour of our white picket fence. Day 8: Love is [insert phrase] A waking dream, a trick played by your unconscious on the present. It makes you crazy, half mad, smoke mazed, causes you to see things that aren't really there, not really. A cloud, fog of Hashish for the senses.Images become sharper, clearer, etch themselves in your memory for slow, pleasurably torturous future recall. The curve of a cheek over you, silhoutted against dim light, the fall of a smooth fringe over sulky cheekbones so close, so close. The play of his smile and above all, the flash of his dark, eyes as his teeth gleam, sweetly predatory as you lose yourself in Him.Skin, gleaming, sultry, warm as it merges with His, so smooth, firm. Hard. Exhalations, slow breaths in the cool, slightly clammy night breeze. The soft, crisp sheets pillow around and mix with the sublime little puffs of affections, kisses butterflied and pressed against temples, jaws, napes meaning everything and nothing. Ephemeral emotion. Moments pass, time stands still for this night, an hour before dawn.Our eyes meet. I look at the Boy. He looks at me. We share a smile.I pull Him to me and embrace Him tightly. Day 8: Love is [insert phrase] Not realising I like you for all the wrong reasons. Day 7: Ghosts Day 7: Your love makes me thirsty Your smile, the one that lights up the darkest room. Your laugh, the one that wrinkles your nose. Your little hop, the one you do when you're walking too quickly. Your voice, the one that melts the hardest hearts. Your salt habit, where you add salt to every damn dish. Day 6: Juju eyeballs I'm hoping the more I make goo goo eyes at you, you'll make goo goo eyes back at me.Every time I see you, I'll make goo goo eyes.Even when I don't see you, I'll make goo goo eyes.I can write goo goo eyes.You'll read my goo goo eyes.You'll write goo goo eyes back.And you'll make goo goo eyes back at me.Just the way things were always meant to be.Goo goo eyes right under my nose. Day 6: Desire