Chasing Pavements

There was stale wine in the pitcher, when Abani decided to drink. He pondered on the whom to raise the toast to. There was a bunch of bucolic flowers, handpicked to wreath a garland of pastoral enchantments and innocent love. "Love", thought Abani. The slow rain, as if chided upon decides to wreck havoc. When was the last lost isle annexed to the mainland? When did the French see Corsica? "On certain delusional days, when reason's treason resurfaces" Abani was cynically sound yet there were certain emotional engravings, which weren't ready to fade away. He had scampered out of parks, he had taken leaps - degenerative leaps... He had fought monotony with melancholy. Introspecting the very existence of the word 'love'. A sudden peal reminds Abani of pathos. He pours the ale when another sullen noise, which would have been unheard had not Abani been very skeptically inclined towards sounds and syllables. He deemed it right to seek the source in his marooned house - often haunted by ghosts of realization. Down below in front of the main door there stood a cloak-groped figure. Abani invited the haunted guest in. The cloak slowly figured out its uselessness in this situation and decided to leave. There she stood beside the cactus and dark orchid. There she stood in vile forebodings and veracious exhilaration. She stood there on the verge of a soggy dawn. Was she the incarnate illusion for which Abani waited? She had the strength to break the shackles. Would she invoke dark pathos yet once again? Abani decides to abandon the unfamiliar familiarity. He would rather ostracize his oceanic reveries and dwell in the causeway. Its better to be the indiscernible than the vainglorious lover. However, she wouldn't let him take a firm step. She entwined like nocturnal wilderness. She was perilously alluring. She was the angry river and I was the helpless twig. She was the dawn and I was the early morning blue. She was the appropriate derivative of lysergic acid and I was John Lennon. She was morality and I was a man of scruples. Abani had long endured the silence. Well, this time he decides to articulate. Thus coalesced the two raindrops on the same lavender. Abani showed her the way to the empty room. he knew one thing for certain that this room would not be empty again whether someone resided in it or not.