The color of the day was ash. Vision was blurred by the continuous downpour lashing against the window. I was alone.
It was a perfect day to watch a series of movies with no breaks so much so that by the time you reached the third movie your head would buzz. It was the perfect day to lie in bed and stare at the rains. It was the perfect day to curl up on the bean bag with your favorite book.
But the heart longed for company.
Why is it that the heart invariably longs for that which is unavailable? Why is that that the heart does not understand borders and timelines?
I could also get up and open that new recipe book. Whip up an exotic dish may be. Perhaps surprise myself in the process. Or I could walk out to the terrace and get my soul drenched.
Instead I chose to lie on my bed, with my head hanging, my eyes wandering as far as it could beyond the glass. Watching the incessant whiplash of the merciless rain. Stabbing relentlessly till my eyes gave up and blinked.
The color of the day was ash. My head was a blur.
It was a perfect day to watch a series of movies with no breaks so much so that by the time you reached the third movie your head would buzz. It was the perfect day to lie in bed and stare at the rains. It was the perfect day to curl up on the bean bag with your favorite book.
But the heart longed for company.
Why is it that the heart invariably longs for that which is unavailable? Why is that that the heart does not understand borders and timelines?
I could also get up and open that new recipe book. Whip up an exotic dish may be. Perhaps surprise myself in the process. Or I could walk out to the terrace and get my soul drenched.
Instead I chose to lie on my bed, with my head hanging, my eyes wandering as far as it could beyond the glass. Watching the incessant whiplash of the merciless rain. Stabbing relentlessly till my eyes gave up and blinked.
The color of the day was ash. My head was a blur.
