Samaksh - Part 2

A bird flapped away, sending ripples across the world to transport his gaze towards a man. Samaksh couldn't look away. His mirror played with his fingers, and words strung between his brows in echoes of flapping wings. The reds shifted closer and closer to his eyes, until his eyes were the sea, splashing and drowning and chipping all at once. The mole growing towards the man dragged Samaksh to step out of the bench. The mirror burned. The man fragmented. Samaksh's breath flapped.

The mirror took Samaksh back to the bench. Safety first in a myriad of edges pointed to aim at his existence. His wandering voice returned inside his throat - silenced at the moment.

The man was a safer reflection, distant enough to not encapsulate within his smell - Samaksh's entire reality could be one breath. He flew in the hope towards the burning sun, momentarily, but death was certain. Within the first few feet, his peeling skin revealed the dirt of desire. His scars meandered too deep to ever be more than a reflection - could there be something beyond the shadow of connection? Would there be a finger to dig deeper into the wounds and flay the flesh meant to be burnt?

Samaksh's mutiny held onto the bench and the glancing mirror, looking fervently at the redness of the cars jumbling into the tangled hair of his adulating speculation. Here was the opportunity to become the rodent inside the cloud, the mole within his eye and find peace without, when none existed within.  His scars were the roads on which the pulsating traffic fucked his hopes. The laughter crashed against the coastline, a repetitive habit in the void of his gaze. There remained the forever words of the shadows. People licking up the sweetness of vampires and the dripping fangs, Samaksh the bat was a rodent meant for the void. His healthy worldview was spent on the timeline of management - a reality between him and his cracked, chipped and reflecting window.

The mirror led him home. Back to the familiar lanes and drunks, between the spoilt princesses and milk, filled with bread below his bones - his bed littered with the words to take him back to the moment he fixated. 

The man returned in his bed, holding him. Tight. Samaksh forgot to breathe.