Random Scribbles: Music and Dreams

This Sunday, I thought of writing a few more scribbles about her and me. Just two. Here they are.

Scribble 1: Music and Writing

‘I don’t listen to music. I am not into it…music is not my thing.’ She chuckled. He remained silent. For him, music was everything.

Music was the decoration of time for him, while art — his writing was the decoration of space. He wrote with his music on, often listening to Hauser’s cello or Litvinosky or Morricone’s compositions, soaking in the curves, ebbs, and flows of their notes, and levitating in their rhythm, and his thoughts flowed like the rapid streams, ejaculating bubbles and foams, spiraling into that dance in a trance.

It was a space that was his alone, and he wanted her to be there, being present and connecting with the inner core of his being — it was neither a proposal for invasion nor intrusion, but a desperate yearning for her inclusion…music was his Vitamin M. Of course, he camouflaged his effort mildly, and she could see through it. There was nothing to hide about his intent, but his wishes, just wrapped in a mild layer of civility.

~Ashok Subramanian © 2024

Scribble 2: Grey Dreams

Good night. She said. She never said … sweet dreams. She needn’t to. He was blissfully submerged in the sound of her voice — the voice that he had yearned to listen to for so many years. He was living his dream, and her saying good night was the end of it. But how would somebody who was in his dream respond to that?

‘Sweet dreams’ were already happening, and their call was just about living the dream. The long conversations, the little cloaks and daggers…and her laugh — it was like the wind chimes, the gongs clashing and reverberating in the titillating breeze; the silence that brought them closer; the waiting of the other to speak…his dream had so many parts that he never wished it to end, for there were so many more pieces to pick. The more he discovered the depths of their grey land, the more he wanted to dig. It was like the goldmine that he had abandoned without knowing that the diamond was on the other side.

They were a pair…a pair of incomplete souls being completed by the other…this could be the never-ending journey together they always and forever wanted. Every time they dipped their toe, they discovered that deeper they could go.

He lived the moment — because the weight of the past kept the door open, and they both went in…and wanted to stay there forever. He was living every moment of their togetherness. So much time lost, and now…this time, he could not let it go…how could he? So would she…perhaps?

~Ashok Subramanian © 2024

“For her, I was a Chapter.
For me, She was the Book…”
― Nitya Prakash