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A screenplay that breaks all conventions

By Mesh ToraskarPublished 12 months ago 2 min read
from Phantom Thread (2017) dir. Paul Thomas Anderson

FADE IN:

INT. BEDROOM - DUSK

As dusk falls and I acquiesce to the arms of rest, my closing gesture is to call forth your memory. Yet, with each remembrance, your colours fade, your brilliance vanes, as if I am merely visiting the preceding night's echo, not the true memory I once held.

BEGIN FLASHBACK:

INT/EXT. BALLROOM - NIGHT

It is New Year's eve madness at the ' S E R E N D I P I T Y' ball.

The moment I see you, the room falls silent as if a painting.

You are only leaning over the balcony railing but carrying the weight of the world. Your green dress has rendered the the most beautiful poem ever written out of existence as it could never have been written, for it drapes your solitary body instead - a sonnet woven from emerald threads and heartbreaks.

So I stand there, watching, waiting, hoping that you would grace me with a glimpse into your world, into the universe you were casually holding together like that unlit cigarette between your fingers, and finally make me real.

And when you do, you smile and I let your smile enter me like poisonous smoke.

"Not sure you can dance in dress like that?"

I say.

An abrupt deluge of warm rain starts cascading down like a symphony of sweet hyphens.

"Wanna find out?"

You answer my question with a question, offering me your hand.

I am told, the most beautiful part of our body is where it's headed. Let me argue that the most beautiful part of our body is when it's headed towards love.

INT. BEDROOM - DAWN

I wake up to a world awash in blue, the dawn silently filling my room like water. The stillness is deafening, broken only by my heart pounding in my chest. A sense of unease settles down like a heavy blanket, as if something is lurking just out of sight.

Your memory is like a death that keeps dying - a death that refuses to come to an end, leaving me weightless as I pass through it.

So I sit by the fire, into the heart of the song we danced to and let the fist of an approaching empty day clench my heart. It only tightens and lets go for me to name it

heartbeat.

& repeat.

FADE IN:

INT. BEDROOM - DUSK

. . .

surreal poetrysad poetrylove poems

About the Creator

Mesh Toraskar

A wannabe storyteller from London. Sometimes words spill out of me and the only way to mop the spillage is to write them down.

"If you arrive here, remember, it wasn't you - it was me, in my longing, who found you."

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Comments (9)

  • Teresa Renton2 months ago

    Okay, read it all now, predictable…in how bloody amazing it is Mesh! The images and insights so vivid. The dress poetry thing is just the most stunning analogy, the fist and heart stuff, stopped my breath. Just wow!

  • Teresa Renton2 months ago

    Oh. My. Word! ‘Yet, with each remembrance, your colours fade, your brilliance vanes, as if I am merely visiting the preceding night's echo, not the true memory I once held’ this is exactly what I fear most. How perfectly put. This is just stunning … and I haven’t even read the rest of the poem lol. I just had to comment straight away. I’m off to read the rest now and know I’m in for more awesomeness 🤗

  • Cathy holmes10 months ago

    Oh my goodness. Your writing is just breathtaking. So many lines makes make me stop, just to read them again. If I had to pick a fave it would probably be the closed fist one. Just fantastic writing.

  • Kayleigh Fraser ✨10 months ago

    So many brilliant lines in this. And I love that I acquired a new word in acquiesce! Although not entirely sure how to pronounce it… ☺️ Beautiful work… now to part two! ❤️✨

  • Hannah Moore11 months ago

    And so cinematic in it's evocations!

  • Dana Crandell11 months ago

    Breaking conventions beautifully. Well done!

  • Poppy 11 months ago

    Gorgeous and incredibly unique poem. I loved this line 'Your memory is like a death that keeps dying'. Amazing work

  • You capture that wistful sense of emptiness when the magic of the night has passed & the following day left empty, remembering, wondering, holding on, suffocating with heartache & doubt. I'm with Mackenzie on this. "I am told, the most beautiful part...," was heart stopping, breathtaking.

  • Mackenzie Davis12 months ago

    "I am told, the most beautiful part of our body is where it's headed. Let me argue that the most beautiful part of our body is when it's headed towards love." I think that last line could stop me in my tracks if I heard it said aloud. Holy sh*t, Mesh. And yes, that sentiment applies to the entire poem. "So I sit by the fire, into the heart of the song we danced to and let the fist of an approaching empty day clench my heart. It only tightens and lets go for me to name it." Is it okay that my heart is weeping right now? 💔 My goodness. I have no words to describe how much I love this, and the form you chose to write it in. I also don't think I've read such a compelling recommendation to watch this movie, which is already on my list. Thank you for this. I'm feeling so much right now.

Mesh ToraskarWritten by Mesh Toraskar

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