Half solved crosswords in the newspaper, held down with the happy yellow box of cereal. 6 down is Baku, the U leading to ubiquitous. The cereal has a free toy inside it – a plastic dog that has a squeaky bark when pressed.
All stray reminders of much deeper feelings.
Your striped blue tie reminds me of your first interview; humble beginnings but extreme gratitude of having made it. The tie hangs in your cupboard, lost among the other neatly stacked clothes. I remember days, very early on in our game, when I would hold it to my face when you weren’t around.
The meaning we attach to inanimate objects; a piece of cloth and a barrage of emotions.
My running shoes always sat next to yours; looking rather diffident next to your feisty ones. You always made fun of my socks, when we went jogging. I never kept up with you and strangely I didn’t mind. There are people you meet, against whom you know you’ll lose a game. But you participate anyway, because atleast that way you have a chance to play with them.
We run as fast as our feet will carry us and as far as possible to get away from something that is never going to go away. It will stay, steadfastly, inside your head until it decides it has bothered you enough.
When we first met, we had deep conversations about intellectual things. We argued and agreed and took equal pride in both. Then, we found ourselves in a place where our conversations were mundane and our pride was over having picked the right movie show.
If these are comforts that come with time, how comfortable would you like to be?
The people we know almost always become the people we used to know. Not because they go away, but because they change a little. They are sitting right next to you but are thinking thoughts that are of a place faraway.
When we sit on a park bench, sometimes we hold hands not because there is overwhelming affection but a vague fear that if we don’t, we’ll slip away from each other.
All stray reminders of much deeper feelings.
Your striped blue tie reminds me of your first interview; humble beginnings but extreme gratitude of having made it. The tie hangs in your cupboard, lost among the other neatly stacked clothes. I remember days, very early on in our game, when I would hold it to my face when you weren’t around.
The meaning we attach to inanimate objects; a piece of cloth and a barrage of emotions.
My running shoes always sat next to yours; looking rather diffident next to your feisty ones. You always made fun of my socks, when we went jogging. I never kept up with you and strangely I didn’t mind. There are people you meet, against whom you know you’ll lose a game. But you participate anyway, because atleast that way you have a chance to play with them.
We run as fast as our feet will carry us and as far as possible to get away from something that is never going to go away. It will stay, steadfastly, inside your head until it decides it has bothered you enough.
When we first met, we had deep conversations about intellectual things. We argued and agreed and took equal pride in both. Then, we found ourselves in a place where our conversations were mundane and our pride was over having picked the right movie show.
If these are comforts that come with time, how comfortable would you like to be?
The people we know almost always become the people we used to know. Not because they go away, but because they change a little. They are sitting right next to you but are thinking thoughts that are of a place faraway.
When we sit on a park bench, sometimes we hold hands not because there is overwhelming affection but a vague fear that if we don’t, we’ll slip away from each other.
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