The words I did not speak had become a fine powder. Crimson.
This is only about me. I am sorry. The naked 'maang' stares in the mirror, in my day-visions. I will act like a lover and this will be over.
But then, I learnt to cook, I fancied each afternoon, that 'someone' would come and I will arrange all things perfectly.
A round table decorated with blue pottery, vases of fresh flowers, handmade pickles and chutneys in tiny clay jars, food along with desserts. That, you feel being in Paris. I wanted to design a heaven for 'someone'. A garden for happy souls.
You said, "You are weird."
I thought, "You were talking to my dreams."