Romanza In Rome

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• Taimoor •

Broken glass. Shards of ceramic. Torn rose petals. Shattered mirrors, stained bedsheets, crimson hands, a raw bruise, high grade fever, sweaty palms, aching tongue and chest. The symptoms of a disastrous heartbreak. The reason behind his misery, the end of a love that was short lived, like the life of a moth. He was attracted to the flames so wrapped in their vividness, entranced by the brightness that he never realized when they burnt his eyelids and blinded his orbs. When he changed so unknowingly, that his own shadow forgot to walk in step. His sins were as if stacked together, thrown into hellfire, the grappling flames held them in their grip it was impossible for him to get away.

Taimoor stared out of his floor length bedroom windows. His penthouse had been locked, the key thrown away until he forgot where it was. The tan of his skin was beginning to fade away as he spent hours in darkness. When day gave way to night, when the moon changed places with the sun he had no idea. How long had he watched the stars fade away he had no recollection. His days were unsung, spent in drinking the sharp alcohols straight from the glossy bottles. Their dark stickers pulled off — nameless, he wanted everything to remain nameless.

Countless bottles had crashed against the expensive wooden floors. In is rage many a vases had been trashed. His shoes crunched the tiny shards under their weight as he stumbled from one corner to another. Hot tears streamed down his face, his tongue darted out every now and then, moistening the dry cracked skin of his lips. Shouts and scream of agony filled the place, a few moments after which the silence took over with its full depth. All signs of her had been trashed. The paintings she suggested lay in a messy pile, his own hands had punched them until the broke. The pots and vases she gifted were broken with the mallet he found discarded in the spare bedroom a souvenir from the days of when he played polo.

Last night his stomach had lurched. Too much alcohol. Too less nutrition. His eyes had darkened, the feelings inside his limbs had turned into short sparks before completely paralyzing. He crawled on the floor, in search of food — proper food. His parents were in France, his brother in a city altogether different and here he was barely breathing. With sharp breaths his hands rested on the broken glass, pain gave way to life. He inhaled sharply, feeling the crimson warmth escape his palms. His hands gripped the marble island. Standing he heaved over it, loosing consciousness, he fell. For the second time he fell, his head smacking the ground and the glass piercing through his chest — blood painting his white dress shirt, roses that he had bought for her, tipped over covering his body in their thickness. His funeral taken out in silence and solidarity. Once again, surrounded by blinding lights — he was all alone.

Flashes of light, his own breath the loudest. He felt warm hands on his back, lightweight. In the air, Taimoor felt as if he was flying, for once, soaring through the air. Someone wipe the spit from his chin — he wanted to scream. Try as he might, his arms were too heavy for him to lift. His eyes opened and yet the saw nothing, only voices as they dropped him on to a cool bed. It was hard, it hurt his back he wanted to say. Fingers shivered, legs ached, in all this he felt a warmth seep through his shirt on his shoulder. The voices gained intensity. His parents. His brother. Crying for him, their hands tearing his shirt off.

The cold air burnt his lungs, the scabby heaviness on his chest throbbed. Sleep. He wanted to sleep and forget the demons and devils that were dwelling around him. Slowly, steadily it came. A black shadow stood in front of him, its long arms calling him towards itself. Taimoor reached out, the chill replaced with instant warmth. The headache was gone all of a sudden and the sharp pain inside his ribs no longer troubled him. Finally, he could breathe without pain, at last, he could forget the misery that had brought him to his knees. The cries, the touches, the manipulation got distant by the second, the shadow had wrapped itself around him with thick force, not letting go, whispering sweet nothings into his ear as it flew the two of them away from the realm of the consciousness.