At the same time, in different cities, they were thinking about each other. He wished, she was in Florida with him. Spring was prismic in Florida and Fall had surprising cathartic effect. He missed her so much. He would often think about her when, walking over the autumn leaves they crackle under the feet. He knew if she had been with him, every single moment would have become a poetry. Every scene would have been scintillating. Every flower of his garden would bear a name.
While she, in India, wondered what he must be doing with all the colors of Spring. And that, what Summer has lost this year in India. It is quiet and usual afternoon when windows are drowsy and curtains refuse to tell the secrets. When no one is awake in the house, she goes on the terrace and draws a picture of spring in her mind. The cool breeze kisses her bosom. The color begins to fill her heart with love. With a sudden drift, the coarse hands of Summer, gripped her tight, they made her crave. And she forgot about the seasons.
He waits to become her Summer.
Comments