From Jack, to the Queen of Hearts

Dear Reader,

It is said that love can sometimes be magical. But isn't magic most often just an illusion? Sheer trickery? So believed the Jack of Clubs.

He believed neither in luck nor in fate. Being in the inner circle, he knew that most people who won in the casino did so by cheating. Most games were rigged, and the few times when somebody actually won, that somebody else always made sure that he/she lost everything that had been won in the next couple of games. No, there is no such thing as luck, good or bad.

When he found himself looking into the eyes of the Queen of Hearts, Jack did not think that it was chance that brought them together. Just a play of probabilities. It was bound to happen sooner or later. It could have been any other card. She wasn't special. Just one among the fifty-two. But what did catch his attention was that she had been crying. He knew it because of the black streaks of mascara on her beautifully painted white face. She had been through bad times.

Jack could never handle more than a few minutes of silence. It had always felt awkward. After each shuffling he would find someone new next to him. Their proximity didn't last for long, but he always had a nice time with whoever was near him.

"Rough game night, eh?"

She did not respond.

Then he remembered a joke the Joker had told him

"A man is like a deck of cards, y'know?", he quipped

She looked at him, a hint of curiosity lingering about her eyes. A question mark manifested itself amidst the intricate patterns that surrounded her

"Well,..." he continued, "you need a heart to love him, a diamond to marry him, a club to smash his friggin' head in, and a spade to bury the bastard"

What happened next changed Jack's life forever. For the first time in his life, he started believing in magic. Her smile was by far the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Purely magical!

Night after night, he waited for the games to get over hoping that tonight he would find her next to him again. He started losing his interest in every other acquaintance. Sometimes it took weeks for them to be together again, some times months, and sometimes just a day. He started wishing that probabilities would favor him sooner. It was not until the Ace of Spades pointed it out that he realized that luck is what happens when all probabilities favor one. On every night that he found her next to him, he considered himself lucky. Thus he started believing in luck too. And all one needed to be lucky was to believe in it. Totally.

He would always have something new planned for her. His little magic tricks. Not that there was anything magical about the tricks per se, but the smile they triggered was always magical. Before long, the smiles led to something that felt even more magical. Love. Pure, undying love for her. She had become the reason for all that he would learn and practice. He cooked up stories, jokes, learned more tricks, and did all he could, just to see her smile

Year after happy year passed, and like all good things, Jack's lucky streak too came to an end. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. It has been a whole year now and there still hasn't been any sign of her. Did jack move on? Perhaps he did. Or perhaps he didn't. What I do know is that he still spends his days learning new tricks. And would jack give up everything he has to feel the magic again? I believe he would. Which is probably why Jack decided to open up to someone

I found it extremely hard to believe my senses when Jack started talking to me. At first I thought it was either that I was going insane or that I’ve been having one too many a glass of scotch on poker nights. But soon enough I observed that the queen of hearts never showed up in any of the games. That's when I decided to write this and send it out to the world. Maybe, his queen of hearts is out there somewhere. Maybe one day, she would chance upon this letter. Maybe someday, luck would favor him again. I don't know for sure. But here I am, doing what I can for him.

From Jack, to his darling Queen of Hearts.

The whisperer in the winds

There! Caught you again. Fighting your urges to covet me, telling yourself that I do not exist, and that I am but a mere figment of your imagination. You really want to believe so. But you cannot. For I am, and will always be...

...the whisperer in the winds, cold and warm, sometimes telling you just what you want to hear ,sometimes voicing out your deepest fear, and sometimes saying things that send goosebumps crawling up your skin

...the keeper of your darkest secret, the slave to your whim and desire, and the master of your sinfullest fantasy. Perhaps your only doorway to ecstasy.

...the bitterness of dark chocolate. The scarlet of fresh blood. Berries, blue and black. The freshness of mint leaves. The sweet red wine on your lips, and the dark enamel on your nails

...the reminder of everything heard and forgotten, of names you just cant seem to place, of dreams you cant remember. I'm everything that's shrouded by the mist and beyond the brook. I'm the yellowed pages of that cover-less moth-eaten book

...the shriek in the rain. The flapping of leathery wings. The silence in the graveyard. The voice in the woods. The distant howling of a wolf. The raven's cry. The echoes in an empty hall. The footsteps on the other side of the wall

...the childhood companion you never knew, the one you secretly grew up with, the one you painfully grew apart from. The one who treasures your every smile and your every drop of tear. The inexorable truth. The only thing that is clear

You sense me lurking in the shadows at the pit of your heart. You find me shackled in a chamber deep down and dark. And then you see me holding the reins of the chariot of your dreams - the one drawn by desires and fears

For I am, and will always be...
Everything that could have been

Cinnamon, Coffee, and Passion Fruit

Wispy white fumes rise up from the black porcelain cup, hoping that the sea breeze would be kind to enough for once to let them climb. But it withers away the fumes spreading the aroma of coffee and cinnamon, mixed with the salty smell of the sea, and the memories of a skin that smells faintly of passion fruit. Its that time of the day when clouds turn crimson, birds go back to their trees, and memories wake up from where they had been put to sleep. I stir the coffee for a bit with the cinnamon stick before taking it out, wondering if its the amber sky, the cinnamon stick, the sound of the waves, or the strumming of that distant guitar that just woke up the memories. The strumming grows louder waking up more memories. I sip on the coffee which continues to let out cinnamon fumes. I see the guitarist walk past - a gypsy of sorts with long dreadlocks and sun-scorched skin, and a guitar that seems to have stood the test of time and still managed to sound beautiful. Son of a bitch! May be there are things in this world that get better with time. The used cinnamon stick lay wearily on the black saucer, still damp, still smelling good perhaps. The memories loosen their grip on me as the strumming fades into the waves, leaving me and the cinnamon stick alone...and gloomy. And I say this to the cinnamon stick: "Trust me, I know what it feels like, but your job here is done"