A Scribbled Thought

You and I are so different and I don’t know how we don’t realise that hours have passed by since the conversation began and we met. Maybe, we’re a cliché that way. But we’re not a cliché, in more ways than one.

There is no form of physical contact in our conversations and yet my mind opens up when I am conversing with you. You make me think. Not about lonesome alleyways or century old dilapidated houses that were once called ‘Home’. You make me think of my place in a bustling crowd of a city that we move around in, on a daily basis.

You’re not what curtains drawn and doors shut and windows closed rooms are made of. You’re what a particular homely corner in a homely cafe with the favourite dish from a wrongly spelled menu card symbolises.

I don’t think of lonely when I think  of you. I don’t think of sour silences when I think of you. I don’t need to light one to ignite a stormy debate with you. I don’t need music to facilitate conversations either because our conversations are all the music that I have been listening to these days, on loop. You’re not nostalgia, you’re present continuous.

You sound like home. Oh my, they say we mustn’t call people home because people, they leave.

I don’t know if I will ever be able to relate to “We’re just two lost souls, swimming in a fish bowl, year after year” when I think of you. You don’t let me think of small constricted places, you’re a larger than life man with a larger than life mind.

Your mere presence is wind to my sails, love. Oh my, I’ve never called you love before, have I?

So are you love? I wonder.

4 thoughts on “A Scribbled Thought

  1. A beautiful piece ….like a water color picture your range is prolific… Just try to be a little miser as you depict emotion…… Carry on and the world of words awaits you


  2. There are articles which you can relate to, say OMG, that’s so me. And then there are posts such as these. The ones which make you feel that the writer is just as much a person as you are, who feels exactly the way you do. Yes, you’ve written something so close to my heart, that I’ve bookmarked this particular article on my browser and I read it whenever I feel really low, imagining that someone directed these beautiful, beautiful words to me. These posts whack the fact on your face that words can weave aplenty wonders. And this is one such a wonder.


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