Because she loves winter

She was out walking the lane
Along with the chills of winter
And when it's winters
It always hot that people prefer

A cup of tea with bundle of pages under title
A blanket either on the couch with love or
On the bed with a horror on the screen
Her mom preferred gossips with dad against the bornfire

But she used to stroll against the lake in the city
With freezed leaves still rustling to the cold wind
With the waves of water cold enough to make noise
With his thoughts

Not whom she adores in the office
Not whom she adored in college
Not whom she finds cute while just passing a thousand other
But someone she is still awaiting

A soul that rejoice with the kid in her
A soul that won't question her silence
A soul who would make legs dance,
Which often are lazy to dance along the beats of her favorite song
A soul that mom says she made for her
Not just to complete her but,
Whom she would complete
Not by accompanying him in the rest ages
But by being his thick in his thin times

But the sudden colder breeze freeze her thoughts
And taking her sight to the person smiling to the vapours of tea cup
A bundle lie lazy in the blanket
But he is out here like her...
She just walks to him bids a 'Hi..'

Living the moment
Living the present

Comments

The shying words

How do you believe the moon isn't whispering your stories to someone aren't the chance of him whispering it to some writer high May be one of the reasons why you related to the story yesterday on Netflix May be that's how your crushes end up in your favorite color today May be that's how you cleared the interview today How do you know the moon isn't working on his script with your lines If you can believe someone that far How do we end up doubting the skin and flesh besides and around us If we don't hold expectations and grudges when it comes to him Why wonder for years over a message that din come through I don't understand how we whisper our secrets to the mountains and the sea but fear of losing them against the people we breathe with How do we trust the living forms breathing without the flesh over the living we can touch and feel How do I trust the paper with my words and strangers with my smiles With every question I pen I end of writing hope, belief, ...

Meeting a boy

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Fears, are real!

All the fears are real People falling While walking While dancing While just standing still While looking at someone Failing In the exams With the expectations Of yours And your loved once And the strangers Growing In love Out of love Getting old With lessons With scars With open wounds Being stuck On page for hours and weeks In life for years and years With people till the end In thoughts of your own and the others too. With a blank full of ink but still not working Many others like People giving up on you People not fighting for you You not able to find the old you You missing yourself While you stand before the mirror With blank thoughts Like standing in a room On your own shadow Everyday at certain hour of the day All that you fear is happening is someday We just need to breathe through it Crying, yelling, laughing or just sitting through it Or just walking past it.

Blissfully inhaled and exhaled

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