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“Excerpts” Part 6: Maybe I Am In Love Again

He kissed me on my cheek before he got up. He went into the kitchen to prepare dinner while I waited for him here on the bed, watching the entirety of his back, those mountains arching underneath the veil of skin - I might reside there, maybe that is the only world I want to be in.

[Note from Author: The title of the series is ‘Excerpts’ and the main idea behind the series is to look into queerness at a more intimate and individualistic level. A queer person makes a diary entry on a regular basis and documents their life and experiences while navigating heteronormative spaces and dreaming of a queer utopia simultaneously. The series revolves around ideas of home, love, relationships, identity, solidarity and hope in the context of queerness. In a way, it is very much like ‘Perks of Being a Wallflower’, but more queer and more personal.]

I disappeared again. I know. Things are strange, but the good kind of strange. For once, after a very long time, the air feels easier to breathe and the flowers I receive feel more like flowers and less like thorns. I don’t know how to describe this feeling because there is too much of it to feel. It is overwhelming, yes (like all things are), but it is comforting at the same time – like falling asleep on the sheets that you just got from the laundry or sunsets after a heavy rainstorm. For once, it isn’t as loud as it used to be and the silence is not haunting. To put it simply, even if it sounds corny, I am in love. And maybe that is the reason I’ve been away from making any of these entries. I am too scared of jinxing it and even if no one will bother to read my ramblings, I am a bit embarrassed of jotting this down as if this is the plot for a romcom film or a Cecilia Ahern novel. It does feel too good to be true of how things have been. I have been excelling at work and have made a bunch of friends who get me, but most importantly, I am in love, even though I am too shy to admit it.

We hadn’t talked for a couple of weeks after the party. I thought he must have forgotten about me and I chose to believe the same for myself. After all, forgetting is better than rejection in these circumstances. But then, out of the blue, I received a text from him and that was it. We would talk for hours on the phone only to realize we have nothing in common. He does not like the same music as I, but his taste in films is, well, different. He is obsessed with Richard Siken and I lose my mind over Sylvia Plath. He says he is all feathers and I am the sharpest of knives. Of course, it is more corny than poetic, but it was the right amount of corny. After tons of video calls and texts, we decided to meet for coffee. And we met again after that and every time we met, time always fell short. We talked about everything- things that are embarrassing and things that are genuinely brave; things that are tender and stories that broke our heart. We talked about our dreams and the things that keep us up at night and realized that beyond everything, we do have a common ground- a ground so much bigger than this life and this cruel world. Maybe it is the only place that love grows beyond the illusions and facades that the world has nurtured like stubborn little weeds. We met again and again. And again, for more coffee and chai and walks through parks and tombs and even some obscure places that he showed me. And at one of these lesser known places, he kissed me and I did not hold back. It reminded me of the time I kissed a boy for the first time in some other obscure place in some other city. And there it was, I was in love all over again.

On our next meeting, he invited me to his place and as apprehensive as I was, I refused to turn it down. The next thing I knew was the two of us lying naked on the bed looking into each other’s eyes. His hands lying tenderly on my neck – he really was all feathers. I caressed his waist and his clavicle while he giggled. He kissed me on my cheek before he got up. He went into the kitchen to prepare dinner while I waited for him here on the bed, watching the entirety of his back, those mountains arching underneath the veil of skin – I might reside there, maybe that is the only world I want to be in. We were there and time began to slip away and everything became nothing – we were slowly ‘un-becoming’, we might have returned to dust and waves and everything primordial. Time had slipped away, and we had slipped away from existing for a while. He was in the kitchen, and he looked at me as he hummed to the music. He looked at me and it felt like everything around me collapsed. I don’t know how but he turned these walls into curtains for himself to slowly slide through. He comes closer, stepping on my heart that I had laid there on the floor like a handwoven tapestry. We kissed and our kissing was our undoing, and good God I wanted to be undone. He goes back into the kitchen to get some plates as I remain on the bed; we are here in this small room and I had never been happier. I think I am in love and I can ask for nothing more.

This story was about: Gender identity + Expression Sexuality

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Sarthak is a photographer, writer and visual artist originally from Shimla and currently based in Delhi. Through his works, he aims to portray themes pertaining to identity, alienation, anger and, most importantly, hope.
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Sarthak Chauhan

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