I have always loved writing, especially writing about love. This, for me, is a new experiment. If I ever write for movies, and have to write a monologue for a man whose love was snatched away, it would be like this:
A vast dusky horizon unruffled by the winds, bids adieu to the red sun and to the east, rises the moon and reminds me that for a few hours more, I'll have to endure my madness. Every night that comes, brings me memories of those luscious lips that have left timeless impressions on my cheeks. How could I ever put in words how I feel when your hair covers my blissful face and I breathe through your skin. In the silence of our oneness, I'm sure you've heard my heart beat to your tune. I loathe that force called time, that doesn't stop while your breath sings into my ears, the sweetest of tunes and your skin warms my soul.
As the sun sinks, leaving darkness behind in the sky and in my heart, I have little to say but a lot to express. If you were here, looking into my eyes, you would've known, that these are nothing but a playground for your memories. And if you look close enough, you'll see your own world in them. As I wonder why this night that puts us apart has arrived, like I do every day, I do remember how you played with my hair with your sleek little fingers and gently kissed on my forehead while I was half-asleep like a baby in your arms.
That's it. It is dark and nature has conspired against my heart. The moon has arrived, pretentiously trying to convince me I'll not miss you in its presence. But damn the moon, being a man who has made the moon sleep in my lap a hundred times, I would hardly even look up into the sky. I am chained to your thoughts for the night and in your absence, I feel as nurtured as the desert which has never seen rain.
As the chirr of the crickets in my yard resonates with the haunting of your giggles from your memories that play like a movie in front of my eyes, I don't even have the choice to close my eyes, for I'm sure with closed eyes, it pains more.
- Deepak Karamungikar