Love in times of situationships

It sounds like a morose afternoon
Clung together in the stickiness of the heat
She’s dressed in a sunflower dress
Radiating the color of the scorching sun
We’re two sweaty bodies leaning onto each other
I wear ochre colors
Overflowing affection and bear-like laziness
A mildly squeaky fan sings a tune interrupting the music of Easy Wanderlings - Enjoy it while it last

🎶I took an oath to stand my grounds
When the feeling comes
And greys the day
Listen carefully, I hear the song
The wind brings along to help, carry on🎶

Owing to the abundance of lakes in my city
The winds carry a dampness with them
We’re engulfed by the humidity
ripened skin and clean pores
Enjoying each other’s company in boredom, uttering in the silence “I miss the afternoons of my childhood when my mind was a wanderer without worry and limitation. I traveled, static. Wanderers are often mistaken to be wasting time. Leisure seems like a luxury at this age. I am so deeply driven by the pressure of being productive that I feel like I am wasting too much time.

“My enjoyment of such time will seem like a boring person. But I like doing nothing. I like to schedule a time to do nothing. I don't want solitude in this nothingness, I want you. But, you might eventually get bored of me and these times that lack zest.” saying so, she held my face, and squished it in adoration, biting her teeth.

Allured by her fragrance, I don't utter a word or reassure her that I won't get bored of these moments. I rest my head on her chest, wondering, absorbing, oscillating between the doubts of a futuristic boredom and this peaceful, idle, romance. I rummage through my memories of times with lovers. I have always been the one to leave.

“Love, I am afraid of being taken for granted. For I might become the house that you return to, only when you're exhausted, you rest on my lap only on empty days, you end up spending your life impressing the world you don't care about too much. While you end up treating me like a passion you will pursue when you retire.”

She held me in still silence. Adulting grounded the Romanticism of Love.

Spotify switched to Hindi and played

🎶Khwaabon ko jagah na mili aankhon mein
Wahan pehle se hi sailaab tha🎶

We embarked on a murky route. For a long time, we both were silent. The hands that held my head, loosened their grip. A dark cloud was looming over our heads. All the brightness in the room emphasized the darkness in our minds. We couldn't absolve ourselves of the guilt we felt. We were guilty because we couldn't rid each other of our fears. Our faces sat like mirrors reflecting our truths.

Silence occupied space in the room like an imposing shadow and Love stood like an expensive holiday that was out of budget.