Free counter and web stats Zubaidah Arshad: This Flight

1.6.08

This Flight

There I was, pretending that everything happened was nothing short of sheer normality, vivid and colorful at some parts of the storyline, dimmed in the middle and darkened through the end. There I was, pretending that the chaos and mayhem I had thrown were a mere little bump on the road; hit and run away.

And I was here, gazing deep into the flickered screen in this dark room, gasping for the damped air, drenched in cold sweat, eyes closed and ears turned deaf. Trying to listen I was to the melody we've created together not so long ago where I sat on your lap, humming the tunes we promised to adhere. Apart from the sweet echo, somehow there was nothing more I can remember. We've promised to adhere, but far from being sorry, I opted to persist.

The moment you caressed me using your barehand, stroking the jagged hair of mine, was the black and white printed photo that glued in my box of memory. How I wish I have that red button of time; shalt I push it, everything halts.

I longed to land my finger on that red button.

I want to stop the moment you touched my lips with yours, the moment of intimacy we've created. The magic you've made. The soothing warm breath that touched the back of my neck, the jovial arms that enclosed my torso and that magnificent chain of words you've lullabied.

For it never happened, the imaginary red button of mine, I just wish I could hold you a little bit longer, so this memory will never stop to shine.

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