She says She’s 68... but She don’t know she’s Beautiful

I have known her for most part of my life, well even more and before, after all she did carry me for nine months in her womb, and from that moment, and as long I live, I had an instant connection with her (of course I was connected to her by an umbilical cord), the moment I saw her she imprinted on my heart (or did I do that to her?).

A simple (at times sample) woman, who spent most of her time, most of her life, caring for her family, caring for her in-laws, but now for quite a while it’s been just the two of us, as our tribe dwindled due to mortality of time (and the nestlings who moved on from the nest).

A woman of simple taste and slight awkwardness, but great hidden strength and determination, and yes a whole lot of patience (after all she needs it when she has a confused child like me). I may chide about going for walks, doing her tests and check ups, but I know she can and she does take her self. And when I scold her for her indulgences and giving into her little chocolate temptations, and how it will impact her diabetes, she just quips that she’s not diabetic and her diabetes are under control and she’s eating a little after food is allowed.

She would rather have me sleep than waking at odd hours, would rather have me rest than exerting myself going for a run or hitting the gym. She can never understand how I run so much for so long and don’t stop without getting tired. She never truly gets how I do the things I do (sometimes even I don’t get it myself).

My running friends, who know her, simply adore her, and take care of her whenever she joins us for outstation runs or trips. So she may not run, but she they admire her sportsmanship and stamina when we went sightseeing in Ladakh, and they in turn took care of her. 

She hates me posting her pics on Facebook or Instagram or any social media site, rationalising as to why should the world know what she’s doing and why let bad eyesight fall. She doesn’t think she’s beautiful and doesn’t like to be fussed upon. She feels she ain’t worth it. 

But no matter what she says she’s mean the world to me. For me she’s the most beautiful woman in the world, no one comes even close. She may say she’s 68 (though she’s not too sure about it) but she don’t know that she’s beautiful.

A Question of Faith

He was a man of God, doing what God willed him to do, looking after his flock, then how could this happen to him. Hadn’t he done God’s will, then why did it happen to one of his own, his own flesh and blood.  The revelation had shaken him, left him confused, left him questioning his faith. He didn’t know how to react to it. He had an inkling for quite a while but chose to believe otherwise, chose to laugh it off. By secretly he prayed, he hoped that it wouldn’t be true, just a passing phase, which would over be before you know it.

But all these things were not meant to be, and what he feared happened. When his own flesh and blood came out to his family he felt his world shatter, he felt betrayed, and reacted rather harshly to the situation, to the predicament he found himself in. What would people say, what would the church say, they sure would have a field day gossiping about him. How would he keep his flock in check when he couldn’t do that for his own family?

The next couple of days proved to be awkward for him. He had no clue how to handle the situation and so chose to avoid his son, especially when they shared the same house, lived under the same roof. So they went for days without talking to each other, without uttering a single word to each other. But how long would he go avoiding him. They would surely have to face each other, talk to each other, after all this simmering tension was bound to come to a boil, it was just a matter of time.

Should he disown him as many had done to their children who had come out to them. But he couldn’t do this, he could never bring himself to do this, he would never do this. He was a good and obedient boy, loving and caring and respectful of all, dedicated to the works of the church and it’s mission. How could he do this to him, how could this happen to such a good boy.

One of his friend, in whom he had confided about his predicament, suggested Conversion Therapy to help his son find his way back and return to being normal. But was it possible to change the nature of a person, to alter it, and change their orientation? Was it possible to ungay someone? He doubted it, as he believed that such things were unscientific and not possible. So he was back to square one. 

When his son couldn’t take it any longer he decided to move out of the house. His coming out made him feel unwelcome, more importantly to the members of the church who refused to accept him, and the tension was tearing his family apart. He couldn’t see his family be torn and put through the ringer of emotions, so he decided to move out.

He was not very happy with his decision but then he really didn’t know what else to do. So he visited his mum. She sensed that something was not quite right and asked him about it. He told all that had happened, all that had transpired in the past couple of days and the conflict in his mind.

She listened to him patiently, and when he was done, she pursed her lips, which then broke into a smile. She ran her fingers through his hair as he rested his head in her lap. “He’s your son first, as you are mine,” she said, “rather than thinking about what the world would say, do what’s right for him, and at this moment he needs you, he needs his family.” She slowly continued, “What matter should be him. There’s nothing wrong with him, this isn’t his choice, where one day he wakes up and chooses to be gay. There’s nothing wrong with he chooses to love, and if he chooses to love a man there’s nothing wrong with it, nothing sinful about it, and we would need to accept it. Remember that God is love, and in love in all it’s form. Your family needs you, your son needs you, especially right now when he’s confused and vulnerable and scared, he needs his family the most, his father the most. So rather than thinking what someone would do, shunting him, making feel outcast, lonely and alone, ask yourself what would Jesus do and you’ll find your answer.”

He hugged her tightly and kissed her, said her farewell. On his way home, he closed his eyes tightly and asked himself, as his mother suggested, “What would Jesus do?”  And in that silence he found the answer to his situation. When he got home he went straight to his son’s room. His wife was there helping his son to pack. Her face weighed down by the sorrow she felt in her heart. He knew she had been crying the whole night, the redness in her eye betrayed her. The room was strewn with boxes and bags of things, stripped of all the posters and pictures that had previously adorned it. His son was putting some of his books into a box.

He went up to his son, and taking him by the shoulder, hugged him tightly, and they both began to sob. “You are my son,” he said, through the tears, “and I love you the way you are, who you choose to be. I apologise for reacting badly, but I promise you that going forward, no matter how tough the road ahead maybe, you will never ever be alone, your family will be there with you, I will be there for you. And though it maybe initially difficult for us, we will always be with you, by your side, no matter what the world might say. I shall love you forever, and you shall always be my son.” 

Goodbye... the saddest word

As he slowly began to pack things into boxes he sensed her presence in the room. It was like she was never gone, every little thing, every nook and corner bore her memories. It was like the house had absorbed her essence and now that he was packing, moving out, it was very cruelly reminding him of her. It had been two years, to the date that he had to say goodbye to her, the hardest thing he had ever done, something he never had wanted to do ever again.

He thought he had it all. He was married to the love of his life, they had a beautiful baby boy and another on the way. But life took a cruel turn. She was diagnosed with the Big C. They thought they would fight and win, after all weren’t there others who did. They believed they could, they could conquer it, overcome it. But then it was not meant to be, they weren’t meant to victorious over it. She wouldn’t be called a survivor though she was more than that, she a superhero, but then not all superheroes make it through, some perish in a snap.

So when the inevitable was imminent, she began to plan for what was to come, preparing herself, her boys (yes they had a second boy), preparing him. She oh so coolly but so cruelly suggested that he get a supermodel as a date for her funeral, he protested saying over his dead body, she coolly replied, no darling over mine. He knew that even though she joked about it, she was hurting inside. He knew it killed her that she wouldn’t be able to see her boys grow up, she wouldn’t able to witness the major events in their lives, at least not in person. And so she wrote letters to them, to be given to them on their birthdays, so they would never forget her and she would live in their hearts through her words.

Her coffin was the heaviest thing he had ever lifted, cause it not only bore her weight but it also bore the weight of his heart, which weighed a ton from the sorrow. He had to snap out of the grieving process, he couldn’t grieve for too long, after all he was a single father, he had his boys to take care of, and he had no clue how. Though he had the help of his parents and her parents, he still had to learn the ropes and that was taking him time. He was there for others who needed him but he didn’t have anyone to help him grieve.

As he continued to pack, he glanced at his reflection in the mirror. In the entire process of coming to grip with his situation, coping with life as a single father, he had let himself go. He was a pale self of the man he used to be. He had been there for others now he needed to take care of himself, cause in doing so he would be able to give his boys the life they deserved. He had planned to visit a friend who was a stylist and had taken on herself to groom him, to whip him into shape. And he had set a deadline of his housewarming party to present a new self.

As the movers loaded the last box on the truck, he glanced around. Everything seemed so empty, everything seemed to bare. It felt like it was stripped bare and now stood naked. But even in it all he could still feel her presence around. As he locked the door, one last, he couldn’t help but let himself grieve. He muttered a soft goodbye and then turned and moved on.

Goodbye's the saddest word I'll ever hear

Goodbye's the last time I will hold you near

Someday you'll say that word and I will cry

It'll break my heart to hear you say goodbye

'Till we meet again

Until then

Goodbye

Trouble and Her

As he got off the boat he breathed a huge sigh of relief, glad that that part of it was over. Lesson learned, he and the sea didn’t go too well. He shuddered at the thought that they both would be in close proximity for the next couple of days, if he could make it till then. Damn being spontaneous was tough, never ever would he try to be spontaneous again.

As he collected his backpack he noticed her get off the sailboat and kiss the sailor. She was same female that was holding up the ferry on the dock and who had missed the boat because of her carelessness and delayed everyone else. How did she get here so fast? Some girls have all the luck. He was so busy looking at her that he didn’t see the bag in front of him, and so tripped and fell, hurting his knees. He sat there biting his tongue refusing to howl out in pain, but he did let out a couple of expletives. But she didn’t even notice him, typical of girls like her, the popular ones. When the pain finally subsided he hobbled off to the enquiry box (if you could call that one). He purchased a map and made his way to the nearest hotel. He booked a room and spent the rest of the day in hotel  icing his knees and ordering room services.

Next day he took a rusty old jeep on rent that was one accident away from falling apart. Apparently they didn’t have cars on the island, just two wheelers, which he couldn’t ride to save his life. So in the end he had to rent out this dilapidated jeep. He made a note of the places that he wanted to visit, which was not much, and was on his way. But before that he had to stop over for a quick bite.

He found a quaint little cafe just around the corner but then the service had a lot to be desired from. The service was slow and the waitresses were sloppy and took forever to take his order and to top it all one spilled water all over him. And it was her again. Why did bad things happened when she was around. He infuriated and asked for the manager. When he didn’t get the response he wanted he stormed out from there.

If things couldn’t get anymore worse, it began to rain and the jeep didn’t have any cover, so he was soaking in the rain. And then without any warning the jeep began to smoke and came to a halt. Apparently engine had overheated. How ironic, an engine overheating in the rains. That’s it, he thought, that was as spontaneous as he could get. He was going to get this monstrosity up and running, take the next ferry off this island and the next flight from the mainland and back to his structured ordered life.

The rain didn’t relent, so he got off and tried to wave down passing vehicles to get a lift to the nearest house or shop from where he could call for help. As luck would someone did stop, but to his dismay it was her. He would rather stay out in the rain then get on a bike with her but then he had no other options as he began to shiver and knowing it would be detrimental if he continued to be out in the rain. So reluctantly he got on the bike with her.

Now the rain began to pour making it dangerous to continue any further. They took shelter in an abandoned stable. He began to shiver uncontrollably. Fearing that he would catch hypothermia, she started a fire. But somehow his shivers didn’t quite subside down so she came and huddled beside him. He hated being the damsel in distress (it bruised his male ego) but it seemed to work. So when she asked his to take off his wet shirt, he reluctantly complied.

This seemed to work as he began to breathe normally and his shivering had finally died down. Now he noticed that she  was the one shivering, so he put his hands around her waist and pulled her closer. She put her head on his shoulder and he was grateful for his presence, her touch, her warmth. For the first time, since he got on this island, he felt nice, he felt happy.

Instinctively he looked at her, she was leaning towards him. He felt drawn towards her, his breathing slowed down, filled with anticipation. And without a second thought, they kissed, letting their burning passion ignite a flame, setting the night on fire.

A Rainy Night

The moment she set foot on the dock she knew this was the place for her, this was where she was meant to be, this was the place where she could spend the rest of her life here, if that was ever possible. She paid her handsome sailor with a kiss and promise to dine and sail with him the next time he sailed to the island.

She spent the rest of the day going around the city, exploring it, taking in what it had to offer. This was her adventure, this was her life, and she wanted to make the most of it. She wanted to soak it all in, enjoy every moment, soaking in the culture, tradition, cuisine of this little island that she hoped to call home. The air was fresh, and the smell of this quaint little town left her feeling intoxicated, light headed and dizzy with a sense of elation.

But then she was very aware that she couldn’t live on love and fresh air alone. She knew that very soon she would be down to her last penny. Once more she used her charm and secured a job as a waitress and with it lodging. So she was set, ready to live life on the island. And yes she could sing too. What more could she want.

She had no qualms waiting tables but was not very good at, after all her only experience in waitressing was helping serve drinks at her friend’s party (if that could be counted as experience). So she muddled up orders, found it difficult to navigate through patrons while balancing trays with orders, often mixing up orders, spilling orders, in short not doing a great job. 

The patrons were often cheery, and didn’t mind her clumsiness, willing to give her chance (also they were enamoured by her charm). That was until she saw him seated at his table, complaining about everything. Typical city dweller, she thought to herself (but then so was she) but she was nothing like him. 

As luck would have it, she tripped and spilled water on her (thank god it was just water and not anything else but then she wouldn’t have mind if she spilt something else). She apologised as she tried to wipe off the water, but he was too furious to listen to her apologies (in fact, she didn’t care). He spoke with the manager, and when he didn’t get his way, he stormed out. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw him leaving, she managed to dodge a bullet. The manager didn’t reprimand her, just told her to be careful of such finicky customers. 

That night as she closed the cafe and left for the day, it began to pour. She wore her windsheeter and got on her bike (which she had rented) and was off. It was pouring steadily, not too heavy, quite manageable. As she made her way she saw headlights and someone frantically waving their hands to get her attention. As  she got closer she saw that the same obnoxious fellow from the cafe. She had half a mind to let him suffer in the rain, for his rudeness. But she saw him soaked to the bone and shivering, and took pity on him. She wasn’t quite the mechanic, did all she knew. But when that proved futile she offered to drop him to the nearest house or shop, from where he could call help. As she rode carefully the steady rain had now become a downpour making it difficult to ride, affecting visibility.

Finally, they had to stop and take shelter in what looked like an abandoned stable, waiting it out, waiting for the rains to pass. She noticed him shivering uncontrollably so she quickly searched about for anything she could get a fire going. When she was finally able to start a small fire they both sat next to it trying the best to keep warm, but their wet clothes made it difficult. He was still shivering, so she snuggled up next to him hoping their body heat would keep them warm. At first he flinched, was taken back when she snuggled next to him, but then he relaxed. When she suggested that he remove his shirt and let it dry, he was initially hesitant but did as she said. She removed her blouse and sat there in her underwear.

They huddled together before that fire and it seemed to be working. Heat from the fire combined with the heat from their bodies provided the warmth they needed. She lay her head against his shoulder, and he put his around her waist and pulled her closer to him. Out of of nowhere she felt drawn to him. The person who had earlier repulsed her was now attracting her and she was powerless to this attraction. She leant forward till she could feel his breath on her face, she could feel his body close to hers, something awaking, like the passion she felt within her. And as she slowly moved closer to his face she felt his face draw closer to hers, and then they kissed, setting the night on fire.

Stand in the Light

One way or the other we all find ourselves, at some point, living in a closet, afraid to step out of it and be seen who we are, afraid to step out of the shadows. Afraid that we won’t be accepted, afraid at what others would have about you, what the world would say about you. And so we chose to stay in our closets, comfortable to be in there, very often putting up an act, putting up wall, never allowing anyone to come close, never allowing anyone to come in. It’s take great courage, great strength, balls, to let people in, to let others see us the way we are, a little broken, a little damaged, our imperfections, our weirdness, our eccentricities, our insecurities, perfectly imperfect in our own way.

And so we choose to let people see what they want to see, what we would like them to see, hiding away a part of ourselves we feel would not meet their expectations, hiding behind a wall, hiding behind a mask that lets us conceal ourselves, that lets us hideaway our imperfections. All because we are not comfortable in our own skin.

The world can be a cold and lonely place, always judgemental of things, fast to blame, but slow to praise. Always remembering and reminding us about our mistakes, never bothering when we get it right. But are we living to earn the praises of others, what about the expectations we have for ourselves? What about doing things for ourselves? We are much to blame as much as we blame. We love playing the victim, love wallowing in our own misfortunes, never much trying to rise from it. Let’s face it, though we may complain of being judged, we in our own way are judgemental, cause it’s easier to judge than be judged, the shoe is always tighter when it’s on the other foot. 

We have no qualms with checking out others but feel violated if we are on the receiving end, and god forbid if it happens to a person of the same sex. We refrain from using words, not wanting to utter them, cause they want to appear uncouth,  politically and socially incorrect, or just embarrassed to utter then, but in doing so are disrespectful to others.

Sometimes I wonder how butt kissers, bootlickers, can live with themselves with what they do to climb up the ladder, never bothered on who’s toe they stamp, who the pull down, so they can move up. Doesn’t their conscience ever prick them? And then you have those who are the receiving end, don’t they realise that they would dropped like a sack of hot potatoes, once their purpose is served?

In the end, we are a Facebook and Instagram generation, everything we do we post, we tweet about it, pics for likes, trying to increase the likes and followers, never truly realising that these likes and followers are only for what they see, never trying to get to know you, and will disappear just liked fair weather friends, cause what we show them to is a filtered, edited and diluted version of you.

This is who I am inside

This is who I am, I'm not going to hide

'Cause the greatest risk we'll ever take is by far

To stand in the light and be seen as we are

The Rhetoric Question Exasperation

There are Questions, and then there are QUESTIONS, the ones you wished to avoid, the ones you wish you would never hear, but the ones your are most likely to be asked, no matter how hard you try. Questions that serve no purpose, other than fodder for gossip, ammunition to get those tongues wagging, opportunity to throw shade. More often than not they have an answer in themselves. They are often made to sound like a matter or life and death, a matter that the nation wants to know (well not quite the nation but some idle, gossipy aunties do want to know), people that are always curious for an answer, but didn’t they hear that curiosity killed the cat, not that I want them killed (a stray thought does find itself rising to the conscious of an irritated mind), but hey they just want to be shady queens.

So you have the bane of every person who happens to find themselves single, an easy target for these questions. Sometimes you wonder if it’s their life’s mission to get everyone married off. Is it envy or is it shade (more likely the later) that make them ask it again and again, till they pummel a poor soul into submission, after all why should married people suffer alone.

So every time someone asks me “So when are you getting married?” or “Why aren’t you getting married?” makes me want to quip “that’s because you are not doing a good job in trying to find a suitable spouse/ partner for me” (God forbid if they actually start looking for you), “So when are you giving us good news,” makes me itch to retort “I am not pregnant, I’ll give good news when men start giving birth.” Procreation is not my sole purpose in life, and I have no intention of sowing my oats.

Sometimes I wonder if they can ever take a hint. I am nearing 40s (shudder) and not unmarried, which could only mean that I either don’t believe in the union of holy matrimony or marriage isn’t meant for me, isn’t my cup of tea. So I wished they just take the hint and let me be and not get jealous of my bachelorhood, after all getting hitched ain’t everything.

And then there’s question of weight, a very touchy subject for us men too (or I could say for me). So the question “have you put on weight?” lends itself to the answer, the question itself is the answer. If I look like I have put on weight, no amount of denying can take away this fact, but we  still try and deny it. So if seeing is believing, and what you see is I am carrying some extra weight, being fat lazy bum, then you needn’t doubt your eyes, or try to rub it in, unless you wish to change the way you view the world.

These questions seem to follow us everywhere, refusing to let go of us, refusing to leave our side. Everywhere we go the curiosity keeps peaking up by our very presence, refusing to settle down. In fact these questions have one thing in common with marriage, they’ll never leave our side, no matter what, in fact they will remain with us till death do us apart.

Express Yourself

Turnaround everywhere you look and see, everywhere that you go, people hiding behind masks, afraid to be seen for who they are, afraid to be seen as they are, afraid to express themselves.

Always trying hard to be seen as what others expect you to be, rather than being who you want to be, who you are meant to be. Constantly trying to meet the expectations set by other, but then what is it that you want from yourself? You put yourself in a closet afraid to come out, putting up an act to hide yourself, afraid how the world would react, afraid at what they would say. But how long will you stay hidden, how long will you live behind walls and in closets, before the emptiness gets to you. It doesn’t matter what’s the colour of your skin, or if you’re boy or a girl. It’s doesn’t matter what your orientation may be, what your race or creed, or what you believe in, what your religious beliefs may be, you’ve just got to let go and be yourself, learning to express yourself.

Dots and dashes don’t make a word, well unless you’re speaking in morse code, which unfortunately many don’t know. So unless you’re ashamed to say the word out aloud, then don’t say it, cause gestures and empty sounds can be shady and disrespectful to those who choose to be and express themselves.

Sometimes we may hide behind masks cause we can’t help ourselves, cause we don’t want others to see us for who we are, vulnerable and broken and a bit damage. So we keep a part of ourselves hidden, afraid to show our emotions, afraid what others may say, trying to be stoic and brave. But there nothing wrong in letting someone in, letting the world see you a little more than what you had chosen to show. There’s a sense of freedom when you don’t have to put on act anymore, when you’re free to be what you want to be, free to express yourself and let the world see the real you.

..and Jayden got Confirmed

Where did time go? How did it fly by? When did the sands of time change and this lil’ boy become a strapping young lad? It feels like it was just yesterday when we received a call from his father announcing his birth, very cheekily declaring that Tatu lost the bet (my godmother who wanted everyone to have a girl, talk about girl power). 

I remember the first time I carried him in the hospital, and then to church so that he could be baptised, to be welcomed into the Catholic faith. Then there was clip of him rocking back and forth to Akon’s Lonely, smiling with his Bugs Bunny like teeth. He was the accessory that everyone wanted to click pictures with, the centre of attention, this cute little ball of happiness who talked a lot.

When did he grow from the boy who wanted your mobile so that he could play games on it, knowing how to download it if it wasn’t there, to this young man standing in front of me? When did he go from the boy who took your phone (actually he took his godmother and fairy godmother’s phone, who were more than willing to give him their phone than I was), to this boy who wanted me to click him, pose for the camera and then tease me about my hash tags and the numbers of likes I got on my pics on Instagram, compared to his.

Wasn’t it just yesterday that he received his First Holy Communion, when we realised his pant and blazer were a different shades of white, perplexed at how did this happen, to this youth standing in a tux and bow, becoming a confirmed catholic, a handsome young man, the only Confirmant who didn’t show his back to the altar after being confirmed by the Bishop (or was it the Cardinal).

What next, Holy Orders, most unlikely, or Matrimony, most likely. Damn how fast time has gone by. Sometimes you wish you could just stop time, or could it go by real slow, so you taken these moments a little longer before their all but, just a memory in the corner of your mind.

Could I have this Dance

As he slowly took a bite of his pizza, he smiled at the person sitting opposite to him, who was engrossed in the conversation, who caught his eye and smiled back at him. 

There was a cool breeze in the evening air, making the cafe the ideal place to be. Not to mention that their seats faced the park giving them a wonderful view of the people who were unwinding in the park, some by themselves, others with friends or family, enjoying a cool evening in the park. 

The cafe was slowly filling with the regulars patrons, and some new faces. It was that time of the evening where the cafe was the place to be. The waiters were busy taking and delivering orders, dodging each other, weaving their way through the mired of patrons.

He focused his gaze on him and continued to nod as he spoke, trying to take in what he said. He admired his youthfulness, his beauty of his face, he admired his exuberance of youth. He felt drawn to him, sucked into his orbit, addicted to him. It also reminded him of the difference in their age, there in lay his biggest concerns.

They had met on a dating app. His friends had warned him against the young ones who they felt were immature, inexperienced, eager to please, moody. But sex was not what he was looking for so he responded to the taps and pings irrespective of the age, trying not to let any sort of biases get the better of him, trying not bring in the questions of labels. In a way he was glad he did that.

They had been chatting with each other for a while, been out for coffees, chats, lunches and movies. But their age differences kept him in check, kept him from falling for the handsome youth who currently sat in front him. They shared everything with each other, heartbreaks and failed romances, ill fated dates, dates that ended well, dates that were a disaster. They chatted about their lives, studies and work, shared the annoying, ironical and the downright amusing incidents that happened to them. How he hoped that something would click with every date, how he was totally in his head.

He felt comfortable and safe in sharing his life with him, and that was what drew him. But he knew while he had all his life in front to experience it, to make the most of it, time was not his side. He yearned for stability, he yearned to settle down. Why should heterosexual men be the only one to be able permitted to have a family, to have children, why couldn’t a gay man have the same? Why only celebs could adopt kids, have kids of their own? 

He never did consider himself as closeted man but he didn’t feel the need to announce himself to the world. It was his choice to live the way he chose to, and he  loved it that way, he didn’t feel the need to say it out loud, announce his sexuality, his orientation. Those who needed to know already knew about it, and he never denied it when asked about it. But he did feel uncomfortable when friends unknowingly passed insensitive and phobic Comments.

He was so lost in his thoughts, he didn’t know he was asking him something.

He sheepishly nodded his head and smiled at him. 

He clearly remembered the first time they met. He was hesitant to meet at first, but finally when they met he felt as ease. He made it clear about the age issue. But despite all the walls he put up he felt drawn to him. He wondered if he could get over the age block. Could they work? And how was he even pondering these thoughts. But he knew all the walls that he had put up, were now melting, his defences were crumbling down. He was scared of getting hurt cause he had been hurt and broken before that left him bruised and damaged. 

Yet here he was, despite all his defences, falling for the man sitting opposite him. Like a moth to the flame, he felt drawn towards him, leaving him with the only possible outcome of being burned. But despite all his doubts, he wondered why he felt this way for the man before him? Should he give into feeling and risk it all, or should just let it go, for the best? He always felt happy and nice being around him, he felt a sense of well-being, he felt safe and secure whenever they were together.

Just then, a familiar song began to play, the one he had heard before, the one that such a big part of growing up years. And that moment he stood up and took his hand, pulled him close, till their bodies touched and swayed in unison, he began to slow dance to the music. He didn’t care that the people stared, he wanted to be in that moment. And as the song played on, he found his answer.

Could I have this dance

For the rest of our lives

Would you be my partner 

Every night

When we’re together 

It feels so right 

Could I have this dance 

For the rest of my life

He lent towards him till he could feel his breath on his face, he could feel his body close to him, he could see that look in his eyes. And those luscious lips tempted him. He pulled him closer and kissed him, kissed him passionately. He didn’t care of what people said or what they talked, he knew he had to give love a chance.

Many years, and many dates later, they once again found themselves dancing together, in front of their family and friends, after they made vow to be each other. And as the song played, he rested his head on his chest, he could smell the top of his head, a smell which intoxicated him. He kissed on the forehead and then on the lips, continuing to dance, knowing that he had to give love a chance.

I'll always remember the song they were playin'

The first time we danced and I knew

As we swayed to the music and held to each other

I fell in love with you

Could I have this dance for the rest of my life?

Would you be my partner every night?

When we're together it feels so right

Could I have this dance for the rest of my life?