“If it rains
Namrata, lets fry vadaams. And then we can lie on the ground and read.”
When do you know it is love? What do you do when your dreams come true? It came true for me. After twenty years of living in a cardboard we just realised we were living in a dream that we had created in those lonely nights when we knew nobody would ever know us, nobody cared to know what we were capable of.
Today our ‘home’ is sacred, a home where four wandering souls love each other and strive on each other’s smiles. As I sit here penning down my little fragments of contentment over mugs of espresso and smokes, she is crouching next to me beneath the loving shade of the old willow tree in the backyard. She looks up at me, her silver nose ring glistening in the sun, she says, “the wind is beautiful, its going to pour.”
I sat there admiring that spirit of the wild in her oversized grey t-shirt as she read out Frobisher’s last letter from Cloud Atlas. Her oversized classes intimidating her tiny face, her talkative beautiful eyes, and the tiny bikini ear studs. She always craved for the unusual. Always pretending to be strong and never realising that we could see through the pain.
I love her, love how she always notices the things people don’t. That’s how she loved; she will gift you these wonderful fragments of beauty you never knew existed around you. Winking at the bright sun through the green leaves, staring up at the sky when it rains then laughing aloud every time you could not help but shut your eyes. And when you were having a bad day, she would make sure to tuck you in and read you pieces from ‘Little Princess’.
We are all living a perfect life from a beautiful poem. Scared to lose it in a whiff of time, we seem to underline our favourite lines like a five year old.
Like Frobisher said...”.. Nietzsche’s gramophone record. When it ends, the Old One plays it again, for an eternity of eternities. Time cannot permeate this sabbatical. We do not stay dead long.”
When do you know it is love? What do you do when your dreams come true? It came true for me. After twenty years of living in a cardboard we just realised we were living in a dream that we had created in those lonely nights when we knew nobody would ever know us, nobody cared to know what we were capable of.
Today our ‘home’ is sacred, a home where four wandering souls love each other and strive on each other’s smiles. As I sit here penning down my little fragments of contentment over mugs of espresso and smokes, she is crouching next to me beneath the loving shade of the old willow tree in the backyard. She looks up at me, her silver nose ring glistening in the sun, she says, “the wind is beautiful, its going to pour.”
I sat there admiring that spirit of the wild in her oversized grey t-shirt as she read out Frobisher’s last letter from Cloud Atlas. Her oversized classes intimidating her tiny face, her talkative beautiful eyes, and the tiny bikini ear studs. She always craved for the unusual. Always pretending to be strong and never realising that we could see through the pain.
I love her, love how she always notices the things people don’t. That’s how she loved; she will gift you these wonderful fragments of beauty you never knew existed around you. Winking at the bright sun through the green leaves, staring up at the sky when it rains then laughing aloud every time you could not help but shut your eyes. And when you were having a bad day, she would make sure to tuck you in and read you pieces from ‘Little Princess’.
We are all living a perfect life from a beautiful poem. Scared to lose it in a whiff of time, we seem to underline our favourite lines like a five year old.
Like Frobisher said...”.. Nietzsche’s gramophone record. When it ends, the Old One plays it again, for an eternity of eternities. Time cannot permeate this sabbatical. We do not stay dead long.”
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