And she kept her disguise aside and came out when the sun went out. She isn’t alone; she dances along with a horde of equally beautiful women around her sharing a common disguise. They have the beauty of a cool breeze in hot weather; you never get enough of them. They stay disguised as plants and trees for the world to see, they stand there in the scorching heat and chilly winters; they stand tall and proud in snow and rain and hot air waves. They wait all day for him to come and shower his love on them; they wait all day like that, in exile.
He comes because they believe he will; to her he comes because she calls.
Everyone knows the story but no one believes it.
She never realized she was special even among all her friends who looked exactly like her, until she met him. He came to her and held her in his arms just like the way he held everyone else but she found herself in the embrace more than the temporary bliss.
She waits for him like all the others.
For him all are the same, for her, she is the one.
For him all are a part of him, for her, she is him.
But she is like all the others in exile. Exactly like them.
With the first notes from his flute, the heaven descends on that small garden for them and she leaves her disguise to meet him and dance with him.
The love we talk about is the dance of belief, the dance of believing.
Kashiv runs a hand over the laptop and then over his eyes. Earlier he had dusted the laptop and plugged in the charger, unsure it would start. When the laptop blinked with a fresh wave of charge and came to life, Kashiv returned from a self imposed exile. The first thing he reads in the untitled diary gives him reasons to believe that he can start, he can dance and he can return. Kashiv shuts the laptop to return, sits back on his chair, opens his diary and waits. Waits for him.
Image courtesy: Pinterest.