I was lying there in a dark corner, not a ray of light could I see, nor my shadow. I was covered all in dust from head to toe, from ages ago. I looked out of the tinted glass into the large room. I searched all around me from the wooden floor to the dark grey ceiling covered in soot. Please don't think that I'm a dead object. I know I am an old fountain pen, all the ink within me has dried up. But still there is a an unseen heart beating within me,which you cant see and only I know its inside of me.I want to get out of this closet, wish I was a human. I want to get out and look for those hands of the man, who kept me close to his heart in his coat.
He would sit on that iron bench in the street, facing the french window , draped with rich heavy curtains of that white villa. He would wait there for long minutes, sometimes hours, for that curtains to be drawn. The house maid would come and dust the windows, followed by her for whom he had been waiting for hours. She would sit there by the window sill and water her small garden. To his eyes she looked like a flower from heaven, she looked like a flower amongst the other flowers. She would then sit on the chair by the window and look at the birds bathing in the bird bath, the women walking on the pavement chattering away, the kids playing a game of sticks and stones on the street. At those proud old women in the carriages with their head held high and their airs and graces, she looked at those handsome gentlemen on horseback trotting away as proud peacocks.
Then she would turn her lovely face to that old iron bench, and look at the shabby stranger clad in brown suit. She would see him there everyday at the same time, with that silent expression of wonder. She would then let out a silent sigh, which he could hear loud and clear even from yards away. Then their eyes would meet, she would always nod and he would always tip his hat at her in courtesy. He would wait when she would smile at him , but she never did , it was always a nod. But that day something changed, when she looked at him, she smiled, a smile so beautiful that he had never seen anything like it. His eyes widened, he smiled back , slowly at first, then it grew wider spread all over his face. She looked at him and gave a loud giggle, his heart beat faster and it almost exploded. I felt it, I was sitting there in his chest pocket of his coat, I felt every skip of his heart beat.
He then pulled me out of his pocket, opened me up and turned the pages of his notebook . Opened a new page, wrote down the date and time . Looked back at her , smile and then he would write words about her, everything about her, about her beauty, about what she did, what she felt, what he felt for her..
But that was decades ago. Now I am in this closet, lonely and old. He is no more, he is nothing but a ghost. I can see him now at the window of his room, pale and white , looking outside at that window with that longing glance. As I am looking at him, he turns back and walks towards the closet. Those hands that I was looking for , now opens the closet, they are now dead.He takes me from my where I am standing. Does not clean the dust though, they make no difference to a dead man. He puts on the old coat and takes the old note book.He walks out to that iron bench, now rusted and broken. He sits there and looks at the white villa, at the french window, at the heavy curtains, waiting for them to be drawn. He waits but no one comes.Waits for days , months and years. Finally the windows open, the curtains are drawn. And he sees her sitting there, a pretty face, exactly like her mother. She looks out at the street , the people and finally at the old rusted bench.
But there is no one there, she cant see him. She turns away. He looks on ,with that familiar old grin, spread from side to side on his face. No one sees them now, only I do. He takes me from his pocket, only now I don't hear those heartbeats. He holds me gently in those pale white hands, opens his book and starts writing those words again and yet again.Times have changed, so have people, but he will always remain there, so will his love.
Finally I found those hands, words flowed from him through me..
