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Fruition
“I want to bake a cake”, she said. “Here we go again”, I thought. Her sudden urges. Her beautiful urges. I was amused when she told me she wanted to come here and cook me the chicken recipe she learned from her grandmother. “She’s already thinking about normal life here”, I thought to myself—confused. I
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Love
“I’ll wait.” I’ve been telling her since the past twenty days. Truthfully, I’ve been telling myself this for these excruciating, painful, empty, and bleak twenty days. There’s love. There’s love because I remember her face when she said “Later.” I remember how amazed I was in that moment— by her randomness. A trait I adore.
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Want
“Fuck the right term, I want this. Do you know what that means”? I asked her. Without a thought, “That means we’re gonna have it.”, She replied. I loved her in that moment. Want. I look deep down my life and realise how I didn’t want many possessions. I still don’t. Things don’t make me
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0.5x
“Now look up,” she said. “What is she doing?” I looked up in surrender as she clicked the picture. Those pictures. It boggles my mind how my entire photo album is filled with just pictures of me at the most random times—eating, sleeping, or doing something funny. Generally, objectively weird pictures. I never took a
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Pearl
“You’re scaring me now”, she said. “Be scared, then”, I thought. It gave me a certain convulsion to force her graceful nails into my little wound. That feeling still remains inexplicable. She doesn’t know it, but I find myself tracing the contours of her beautiful nails each time I gaze at her hands. The urge