Blocks, me , and my imaginary friend

I stepped in, silently. Tip toed 10 steps towards that figure, who also happened to be my friend. He was facing the window; the morning sun, he often used to say that he like to watch the sun rise, it fills his heart with something he can’t describe, one of the few moments that make him smile. Maybe he was enjoying one of them, but it didn’t seem so. His marble floor was filed with crumbled papers, ink all over them; something wasn’t right. I wanted to pick one of them, but sound might disturb him; the last thing I would like to do, disturb him while he enjoys his moment. Oh, he looks sexy when he does that, it seems like he just vanishes somewhere, maybe in the 5th dimension, who knows. It’s beautiful to see him do this. The way his body pauses and eyes gets fixed at the thing, I feel like his soul leaves his body for some seconds but then he smiles, and one can see the warmth behind that, that vibe, makes me smile. It isn’t that only nature does that to him, even at movies, he sometimes loses himself, forget that I am beside him and gets into the character he wish to be. You can see him feel, he smiles, laughs, and sometimes there are pearls in his eyes. It’s so rare to meet someone so sensitive. He makes me realize how less I live. But today something wasn’t right. He was staring outside the window. I slowly clipped a crumbled piece between my toe and finger and caught the hold of it to read it.
I won’t disclose what I read. It was just two lines and I knew he is suffering. There were lines, and dots all over the paper, ones that tore it, and there were many replica of the piece in my hand lying on ground. I lifted my face and again moved towards him, I noticed how his hairs were all messy but his bed sheet iron tight. He must have not even slept at night. Oh it’s terrible when you cannot pen down the emotional turmoil within you. All it does is make you feel more bad; drown in the depths of self-pity.
I reached him, he was numb. I stood between him and sun. He just stared me for a while, until I rubbed my hands against his head; he cried. I didn’t stop the flow of emotion. I pressed him against my chest, let him cry for a while and then soothe him. I kissed his hairs, still standing there between morning and him, and I wanted him to sleep for a while. I pulled the curtains, cleared all the mess, the crumbled poems while he sat, his back against the wall, staring into nothing again. Then I made him sleep.
I sat beside him for whole time, kept dressing his hairs. I knew time will change, and so will he. Memories of night will fade in the depths of time and again I will meet my friend, the resident of present. For even when we do nothing to change things, something changes, and this change in time is the cure to many emotional problems, if it comes with a sleep. Some might believe that sleeping means losing time. I would say maybe losing time, but gaining life.

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