citrus

You give your hand to me and then you say hello. And I can hardly speak, my heart is beating so. And anyone can tell you think you know me well. But you don't know me.

The stone stairs led right to the river. As you reached the last one - covered with slippery moss so you had to step carefully - the cool water lapped at your feet. She gathered her saree around her knees and sat, her thighs now underwater, her feet being nibbled at by the little fish. In the afternoon, the water glistened but lay still. She had never seen it so calm.

Almost near the horizon, were the coracles. Three of them, filled with her friends. As a little girl, she had become so accustomed to being taken out on coracles by her uncles that she could step from one to the other, in the middle of the river that had skirted their town.

Now, she shielded her eyes from the sun and looked at the silhouettes, some sitting still, others trying to clown around. The wind had carried their voices until a few moments. Now they were too far to be heard and she would only be a speck to them.

So she began to cry. The tears flowed into the tight folds of her hankerchief, which she kept using to dab her eyes so they would not get much too red. She cried until she felt a bit better, a little more consoled. Almost as if on cue, she could see the coracles coming back. As they came closer, she saw him with his arm around the other girl. But by the time they reached the shore, the two of them were sitting far apart.

And he stepped towards her with a smile - "You should have come, I missed you."

"I am scared of coracles," she said, before walking away, her wet saree clinging at her feet and her eyes smarting again.

You don't know me - Jann Arden



Courtesy:http://memoryandforgetting.blogspot.com