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My Almighty Sun

Anam Ranjha

“Have you ever desire freedom from your own-self?” I felt relief after whispering my burden of desolation to his ears. I tip-toed through petals with my hands that revived my fragile heartbeat with an endless loop of sounds. And for a moment, I wanted to engulf my own words when I heard him saying, “I worry about you as you are becoming maddened homesick for your mistakes” I was floating on teardrops on a wooden log lost in darkness when he held my hands with a gentle flutter and caress my loneliness with his warmth. “Relax, take off your shoes and lie next to moonlight” , he mumbled.

“I wanted to let it go” the only thought that was crowding my mind while collecting precise beads of imagination on a cold aisle. Faces feel like mere subjects of an art gallery, galloping to tell that there are no words for twisted minds that are capable of such destruction. So stop. You can’t let it go. And I, the protagonist of my own story, looked inward. I found cold, dead ash cold. It was the kind that clings to the rough floor even after the seasons burnt it to hell. I looked away and thought that time would surely be able to dilute these evil waters. I began to feel as though I’d been built with my own intimacies. The good and bad are immaculately preserved to memory as a sicken fungus. I wonder, why do I feel compelled to feel sorry about it? He was sensing the confusion in my nerves.

“You are very bold. Very angry. As a human being, I am not able to compete with your potential. I’m sorry about the circumstances that have made you so, But, he walked towards the balcony and let himself to get some air as though he was suffocating under the pressure. The marble under my bare foot was killing me. I kept lingering to the curtain and looking at his back. He had created a curious sadness up in the room. I don’t know about him but it was choking me. I wanted to hold onto him, cover myself in his warmth. But I kept standing there, locked inside the deep marble, just like a criminal in a cage. There were no clouds inside the room but I was still able to see him soaking. No clouds. Absolutely nothing yet raining all over us.

I didn’t want to infringe on the space. So, I sat on his lap and light a cigarette in an honour. I observed my cigarette smoke dancing in the air towards him like a drunken feathers in clouds of twirls, winking at my insignificance before being swallowed by an Almighty Sun.

The writer of this article is a biology student at LUMS and an abstract art lover.

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