• Her •
She sat next to the window, the sunlight reflecting off her mirrored jhumkas.
She restlessly sifted past the pages, until she finally settled on one.
The mild evening breeze hit her face, she leaned out and sniffed it in, then smiled as she remembered something else.
She took out another book from her bag, a black leather jacketed diary.
She opened it and something fell out, a bookmark I think.
It was an old rose, wilted and aged with time.
She picked it up and breathed it in. A little smile playing on her lips.
Instead of keeping it back, she turned towards the window and let the wind carry it.
She turned away before it could even reach the ground, she smiled a little, her eyes damp with some unnamed emotion.
I stared at her, a million questions in my eyes, but she didn't notice me, for she hurried out to curb her now flowing tears.
She walked past me with smudged kajal and a heaving chest.
Maybe that's how she had found her closure, maybe that's how she had moved on, that's how she had let the dead be just that, dead.
Me, I still wait for her everyday at the library, just to catch the wind playing with her hair, the sun playing with her jhumkas, a smile playing with her lips.
In 📷: @the.pawfect.girl 💕
Courtesy 📷: @_saaakshii_
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. Dec . 29 . 17 .
My soul is so young
It does not know
How to catch all these thoughts and feelings
How to paint like the masters
Like Rembrandt in his tones
This wild world all flies around me
Like wind and sound
Wild lights at the carnival
I know I should write
I should document it like a crime scene
All I know is that fog is beautiful
And that no ticket I have ever bought
To anything has ever been worth the drive through the redwoods
Along highway one
Or the phosphorescent animals that make the glowing tide
Cold blue agates
And spindly pines
Bark and streams and fog and steam
And grime and moss and earth and dreams
And Ben Howard crooning in the car
As we lose ourselves on logging roads
A strange ache to reach the crests and wind-whipped peaks
Just to catch a glimpse of the next ones
The painful unattainable beauty
That slips from the grip of my words
Like a lucky fish from a grizzly
And escaped into the indescribable nothingness
Of the sunsets that make me weep .