A Romantic Vision

The dilemma of Offspring

I braced him in my arms and raised him to the bed, often wonder how would it be like to return home to the heart of love, or what would happen if the lake of love reflected him back.

awan polished the walkman with a cloth on the table,

the entire conversatin of these men have grieved me.

Awan gave me a short ambivalent glance, at the moment I returned to Timur and kissed his forehead, I do not know what takes me to him but I really want to know the niche of his heart, the secrets that have swelled his lips but the voice of him is muffled by the very breath that he doesn't allow to escape.

"miss I think you shouldn't console him" Awan pulls me away.

he looks hurt but I am hurt too, I wonder when we will start talking again like fifteen-year-olds,

that day seems to be vital in my memory yet so distant in reality.

I left the room allowing to be free from the toxins in the air of the love that men create hazy and daunting.

The next day came early, the sparrows chirping the song of little children, I retired on the table, my head drowned in my hands, something from the intoxicants consumed last night has made me obscure. Head hurts rehearsing the speeches and confessions of these two right in front of me shamelessly.

somehow I still ask "he loves me?"
Awan 'tsk' me away.

The morning washed late over us. I ate with Awan, warm butter over the biscuit as he stuffed black brownie in his mouth, Timur settled beside closer than usual, he demanded a cup of tea and slowing made way for his query, he asked "was I with you last night"
Awan fumbled with the crumbs of brownie falling from his mouth, shaking his skull vigorously.

"When will you get ownership of Maerifa?" Timur raised a question with this tea.

"oh when I'll have a child...the ownership would belong on her progeny's name" he sighed.

We both stared him with distrust and surprise.
He was offended.

Timur took the tea to his room, the whole kettle and left the shock to the lonesome table.

"have you any sense of what you just uttered or are you wholly consumed by your greed!" I threw my hands in anguish and it startled him.

"oh, miss... You are being rude!"

I cried for how God knows he does not understand! " do you understand what having a child means Awan...?"

His eyes widen, there were some half-eaten phrases that would not convince me so he kept quiet.

"a woman who has no control over her own accord, you have no sensibility of being...you cannot get into the slightest impulse of entertaining the thought of a child!" I started furiously.

He slammed both his fists on the table before he walked out he turned to me with bitter gaps, his lips marking a rigid sourness to it, green in eyes and green in a speech he let out  "he does not love you and he never will and you know it better than anybody else"

I walked into the cavity of my soul, his voice echoed inside me for two years...two filthy...empty... Unhappy years.

That was the last time I had seen Awan before I returned with Timur to a city house, that sometimes use to be my childhood home, my parent's place as Timur refused to go to his house, he said he could not live there anymore, I myself found it unbearable without Anne.

These two years saw a still, tranquil downfall of my vanities, my desires, my insatiable hunger for love but mostly the gruesome self-pity that resides in me, I saw them come to life and animation into my room at night, I saw each of them so decorated and glamourous in their deceit, they haunted me exceedingly. If silence teaches you something: it gives a vision, a salty parable of your own story in a vision of somebody else.

I saw myself lastly about how I really am. Thankless.

It was a mediocre afternoon at the big empty house, Timur lay in the mattress reading the novel upside down, he probably had no idea how awfully he had failed to ignore today.

I had run over myself with the trucks bearing the questions of all sorts, what were we doing together if we were not together. I sat in my father's library hid in the corner of the mahogany cupboard and cried the last time for Timur, I promised myself it would be the last time, that I would no longer cry for him or love.

That proved to be a better promise at life than most I had made.
The crimson flowers layered like sun rays troubled me, so I had the maid cut them off the very next day. I planted bluebells and do you know what bluebells mean? It means Constant.

Like I shall be from now on.

However, I never noticed how the small leaves of coriander mixed wildly in the dirt. So it reflected in the very shamed confession that retreated me to the worst day of the two-year adversity, " I want you to make love to me" I urged shamelessly.

It was not easy not to stay distant, when, how or even then I did not know why but I craved him... It was humiliating but it would serve one more task for me, I wanted a child... I wanted someone to love entirely.

I did not tell him that of course, knowing how he would react to the desire.

He did make love to me, his eyes closed the entire time, his body cold like a corpse, his breath like sorrow not moaning but mourning. I felt utter disgust under him as I pushed him off and never looked him in the eye again but yes I did not cry, did not break a promise.

What occupied me after that was days of comprehension if that was enough to get me pregnant to bear a little one...

He lamented a dozen times for the night but I told him I was glad we mated and that is how I now was convinced there was nothing that could ever unite us. The child was mine alone I settled.

Every month Awan posted me a book with a note that said nothing more than I miss you, I am sorry...

To me, his books would serve no purpose as I had stopped reading but the note traced the scent of lilies and days of Sidratul Muntaha.

I attended classes for cooking, sometimes pottery made friends with a neighbour and heard her toxic talks of passion and lust, that would follow food somehow.
She had twins, they were initially the first one's to ignite the feeling of barrenness in me. I hoped all the time of being filled somehow with a set of twins if not then just one child perhaps...

Timur was kind to the children but did not demonstrate further interest.

They played with me when their mamma would go shopping or when the couple felt the heat between them as she said, she put those two in my trust.

I loved them, two seven old talking sunshine in my dead house, set alive the atmosphere when they one day came to Timur and made a stubborn request to tell them a story and a very long one. It is surprising though how much ever I love them, feed them and cuddle them to care they love him more than me.

Yes, it suites him to be so loved.

I am not jealous not am I mad, I wonder if we ever have children they too would prefer Timur, or if he would love them, loves lurks in his eyes for a bare second and he wraps it quickly in his moodiness but love instils in him, I know.