Are you fine? Yes, I am.
As fine as the thinnest pasta sheet that feels the pressure of being perfect, extending and oppressed under the rolling pin; no choice to break, no option to crack, just go with the flow. Fermented over time to transform itself from just being water and dough.
As fine as doctor’s needle that innocently pricks, to get just few drops of blood, to make you well. Ironically in how many days you may die, also lies on its tiny shoulders to tell.
As fine as the sand that sieves through the gaps of your fingers, that you simply let go of. It wants you to hold it tighter, safer and not let it fall off.
As fine as the thin silk thread that is delicate and pretty and strong; so strong that it is sewed and pulled at, without compassion. It won’t break but feels the pain, pain that becomes a fashion.
As fine as the strings of water of a waterfall, frozen mid way, looking mesmerising to the eyes unaware of its stalled suicidal plans.
As fine as the delicate, beautiful, colourful wings of butterfly, that disintegrate even under the softest touch of tiny hands.
As fine as the ray of light at the end of a tunnel, when that end is way too away.
As fine as the line between optimism and denial; “I am fine”, they both may say.
As fine as the cracks in the mountain rock, growing wider as we talk.
As fine as the strand of this pale brown hair, that made way to our bed while I wasn’t there.
You ask me, “Are you fine?”; while I hold the hair that pricks my heart.
So fine, so soft.
Yet it broke us apart.