I am contented in the moment. The moment of now. I overreach unvoluntarily. A strong sense of happiness flows in me. And I smile. I smile at how I possessed her in the moment, how she belonged to me. For ever. And then she wakes me up to the reality with her musical alphabets waiting to be answered back. You dont listen to me, she would protest. And I search for her in her eyes. I a everything she assures. I believe.
And suddenly the I find myself missing. Missing in her world. Like a old furniture kept aside in the newly painted house. I find a piece of myself which no more gets the sense of possessing her. She has a life, and its a definition with people other than me. I am a hidden definition. I am unauthorized. She has a routine to happiness, the routine bypasses me. I feel. But I know this feeling is false, false for I know her and I know the truthfulness she has for me. And I exist some where inside her. I know. Always, every moment. She knows. The routine ends and I get a place in the definition again. And the old furniture is placed in the center of the painted house, again. To be admired and adored.