" But then again, life itself is a paradox. All in betweens and slow dances between yes & no.

Maybe what I would like is certainty and promise.
I want a sunday morning, 2:49pm phone calls,
unwashed dinner plates in the sink, two towels needing a tumble-dry.
Two tooth-brushes. Grocery bills worth two & a half stomachs.

To know the taste of someone's laugh.
Something that started as butterfly kisses
that burned into
                   a slow bloom of an inferno.

But Monday will come and life continues."

Love will come back to you in nameless ways.
Pale imitations of it finds itself in buttery cookies
& all kinds of sweetness.

In the catch of someone's laugh.
Your fingertips try to recognise their rough & sharp edges.
It is not theirs .

It is the hum of summer hot against your skin.
Though, the fire burns brighter inside of you.

It comes back, even if the night speaks of ravens and inkiness.

Show me a way,
I'll give you a will.

Till then, let's continue lighting
maps
&
burning
compasses.

Something odd, warm (almost the temperature of balmy summer nights) stirred the tendrils of veins, muscles and blood.

It felt like hot showers, bare skin on sheets + ice-cream against azure skies.

It is a something so very lovely.

The shallow breaths & hot air.

We will need it later.

Pepper the words & syllables of anger over 'I want you' s.

Let all the unintentional bitterness settle and rest in chipped porcelain bowls.

We can wash it away with soapy bubbles.

P.S Remember oven mittens over hands that have already been burned.

I ran out of vanilla beans & rock sugar.

The porcelain bowls were left with this peculiar mush of bitterness.
An odd sharpness shuddering down into my empty stomach.
My fingers slipped:
I added a pinch too much of regret
&
a tablespoon
of sadness.

One day, airy concoctions that taste like summer memories will flit in and out of the kitchen window.

It's okay, & maybe if I am lucky someone's knee will playfully bump against mine.
Flour on noses & cheeks.

One day.