November Rain

He looked dapper
in the crewcut and the uniform.
He was a gentleman,
a different kind of beast,
a beast, nonetheless.
 
Grandma said:
real love
is letting him go,
if it’s for a higher purpose.
I held his hand
through the train window.
My legs were trembling,
my voice, choking,
tears were rolling down my cheeks,
and a shiver ran through my spine.
He pulled my arm closer
and kissed me on my wrist.
I felt his callused hand
delicately graze my cheeks
as I stared at his beautiful, thick eyelashes.
A storm broke overhead.
 
Hordes of thoughts stormed my mind.
I was sweating profusely
and was about to faint.
His aftershave,
the jasmine garlands,
the stink of drain water,
and the overwhelming smell of samosas
made me nauseous…
When I opened my eyes again
the train had taken off.
 
It was a cold November morning.
He had been missing from my life
for nine summers.
When I went to drop off my five-year old at school,
it was the same unmistakable trace
of aftershave in the air,
the same unmistakable crewcut,
and the impeccably prim uniform.
His moustache was thicker,
the cheeks were sunken,
and his eyes were deeper.
The beast hasn’t changed.
 
He smiled gleefully, waved at me,
and tried to stop a couple of cars
before crossing the road.
My grip went limp,
and I dropped the umbrella to the ground.
The downpour, the honking,
and the hot flash
were overwhelming.
I knew I was about to faint again.
 
A couple of seconds
before passing out,
I felt his tight grip on my waist.
My eyes were closing gently
as I saw my reflection
in a tiny teardrop
glinting from his boy-like eyelashes.