The bed sheet folds

A neat bedroom. Still and orderly. Everything at its designated place. Except the bed sheet. It is a thick, yet soft sheet, with a slippery texture. In orange and green. It’s in the kind of disarray that suggests of a storm just survived. The tassels, hitherto tucked in properly from all sides, now hang in gathered embarrassment. The mattress stands revealed in one corner, feeling guilty of wearing a sheet that’s been claimed by better. One pillow stands undisturbed, upright. The other lies astray, on the part of the bed that’s neither corner nor middle. Eavesdropping on the conversation of bed folds.

Big fold: Boy! Never imagined such a thing could exist. My life has been redeemed. In my countless experience of over three years, this was the best I witnessed so far…

Small fold: Best? You call it the best? I call it the purest. Loveliest. Holiest. It’s like I finally know what love is. And the pure bliss of…

BF: Oh come on! Don’t you lose the thread. I mean look at me, I’m drenched in their smell. Even the sweat came trickling down in grateful smiles, fragrant with the satisfaction of having been shed for the most empassioned…

SF: No no no…you’re the one losing essence of our shared li’l secret. You feel swell about being privy to their passion. Whereas what I witnessed was pure unadulterated joy. Rapturous love. Sheer bliss. Interspersed with laughter and tears.

BF: Nah. You’re not getting it.  It’s not about the passion alone. It was the love in their passion that was outstanding. The absolute surrender of complete trust. Oh! How they hugged and kissed! I almost thought they’d be lit up in flames any second. It was like love had unleashed its final assault. Killing and being killed in the choicest of ways. With bites, pulls, heaves, sighs, moans, grabs, squeezes, bruises, and what not. Steaming hot. Oh! I’ll take a while to breathe regular again. If ever I do. It was a love making like there’s no tomorrow.

SF: Looks like we are discussing different couples here. Yours sound interesting for sure, but mine could teach a lesson or two to entire humanity. Sure, they did make love, but that was the gentlest ever. Unhurried, caressing, whispering, caring and utterly sweet. As if they had all the time in the world for themselves. They spoke words of endearment. They chuckled with delight. Now, they were two eight-year olds running across a grassy field on a rainy day. Now, they were two old buddies in the grey years of life. I couldn’t tell, for the life of me, why these two beautiful people carried a universe of love and pain in their souls. Even in the most intimate moments they had their eyes locked. As if their only point of interest in the other was the soul, to which inner treasure the eyes led the way. They held each other like one holds fragile bone china; and for reason they alone would know, they kept blessing and kissing each other’s forehead. She waited till he slept like a baby, and he woke up early to watch her asleep. They slept unencumbered by everything worldly, as if they contained a universe within. Healing the other with the entire power of their soul. If it was not for their clasped intimacy, one would think it was a parent bidding goodbye to a child departing for the battlefield. Tears flowed like pearls on the undulating curves of their bodies. There was no bone, no sound, nothing jutting out in their fluid consummation. Love was performed to the most soothing song ever. They loved like they’d be together in every tomorrow.

As the SF completes his narration, BF looks at it with incredulous eyes. They repeat their versions once more, twice, thrice, in different ways to convince the other of being closer to the truth. Their expression and conviction matching their experience of the present debate.

That is when the pillow, the one lying askew, chips in.

Dears, it says with the sated voice of the guardian.

I’ve been listening to your debate for a while. And I can tell, with the same conviction with which you defend yourself, that both of you are equally true. Yes, you’re talking about the same couple, the twosome who loved each other in all moods possible. The duo without chinks. Try not to capture them in words, for words don’t have the wherewithal to put together such beatific beauty. Just cherish them like you did, and prepare to be surprised each time. For they go on exploring and loving and worshipping…ceaselessly.

As you witnessed the making of their love, I heard their conversation. Their words. Their whispers. Their confessions. Their promises. Their dreams. Their snores. The incoherent gratefulness of a love found. And the excruciating agony of impending separation.