You craved for cake the other day. I proudly served you a piece with brownie, brioche and all that I bake.
Oh ! Remember the day you whispered about a dream ? A dream on the lake wrapped under a starry night. We set sail in seas with blessed breeze, safe under the cozy cover of the moonbeams.
You beseeched me to take a wary step into the dark corners of my being and tap a little secret for the night. It instead became a night of secrets as I let you wander all over, showing you my tunnels with the same welcome with which I display my bridges. Elated you were about the unforeseen fortune !
When you felt threatened in the least, I ran to be the army you needed. It was the engulfing embrace you noticed and cherished, but you missed the fierce spear I had sharpened to sear your ghosts.
I was the safety blanket which you wore like a cloak of invincibility, until you wanted a new colour. You see, I was neon orange and you couldn’t handle the force of me. You wanted sober. Faded. So you could feel like the saviour.
By then, you’d explored my islands, plateaus and valleys and you wanted to go to a different country. Where there would be more slush and less sand, so you feel like the better man. Alas, I realised beauty can induce fear only when you were taken aback by my equally agreeable hills and dales.
So, I got you tickets to a faraway dream and waved farewell when your flight soared high. I found it strange that the reason you flew without me was I “gave you too much”. Little did you realise that it wasn’t the strokes of the painting that were too loud but the interpreter’s eyes that were sore.
Soon, you may tire of the treasures the other nations bear and all you would want will be to come back home. You’d point out your wounds the size of my mole and I’d be reminded of the monsters under your bed. So you’ll ask for a bandaid and I’ll throw in a brownie, a blanket and a blissful lullaby. As I sing you to sleep, make your choice.
For I’m in or out, you’ll never find me lingering by the door. I don’t dole out my affections in portions and titbits. If you’re asking from me, you’re always asking for more.
WordPress Daily prompt : Portion