But, he didn't realize it then.
When he stood there, in the busy bazaar -
Shoulders bustling for space
A stream of rickshaws blaring air horns
The bickering of women and vendors
And catcalls of a few who leaned by the stalls scanning the crowd
The occasional whistle of the policeman
The ringing bells of cycles snaking their way through the crowd
The unmistakable market scent
Of incense, jaggery, sweat, salt,
Rotten cabbages, fresh fish and soiled paper -
This heady concoction of sensory perceptions we so distanced and muted, he felt he might have been overhearing someone else's thoughts. Again he didn't realize it then, 'cause his mind was elsewhere.
Resting on the clean grazed stainless steel and glass take-away counter, shuddering to the unusual chill, his mind was dreaming. And creating those exquisitely intricate dreamscapes it so often indulged in.
Her warm kiss of sunlight on his neck.
Her gentle breeze running frail fingers through his hair.
Her lazy sleepy waves whispering music to his ears.
Her scent was a valley of flowers and rain and sunshine.
Her hair, waves of an ocean in night.
As he stood in the marketplace, the summer sun turning the world a monotony of white, he was searching for secrets and truth, for reason and meaning, as he looked into the endless depths of her eyes. In those few moments of lazy transcendency, of silent mournful longing, he was the loneliest person on the planet.
Yet, he remembered vividly that he was with her the whole while.
