Monday, 18 December 2017

BlogMas 2017 Day Sixteen - !

Hello. It's Day Sixteen!
Time passes anyway, doesn't it? And we never realise the point where our losses transition from being that to just another stories in our lives. And it's essential for that point to come in because traveling back in time is not an option. But what if it was? What's the first thought that creeps into your mind when you imagine getting the chance to change certain happenstances or something you did or someone you met? And you can figure that out only when you have learnt what you really want or who you really want to be out of it. And that's the problem with most of us. We don't really know ourselves enough to answer that question. Or does anyone? I reckon everyone struggles all their lives to find out who they really are. And anybody who says they don't, are just plain lazy. Everyone struggles. Everyone is stuck in a vast, unending bedsheet life wrapped them in and we all are just tussling our way out. And all of us are mighty curious what the other end holds or what happens when we stop tussling altogether. Are we grounded forever holding unanswered questions or someone helps take the coat off of us? What is it that you always wanted to make happen? I have a list so long, it might as well replace the bucket one. And having scroll of what we mostly just call regrets doesn't make you unlovable. It just means you can be lost and loved, all the same. Pick up the phone. Change what you want to. Get what you desire. 
You took a chance to make something happen in your life which you want to change or recreate now anyways, so might as well take one more. Make sense of what you truly need. We take a lot of commas in life as full stops. And it's up to you to cap that sentence. And if it ain't a comma, be cheeky, throw caution to the wind, tell them you detest the words used by someone else for your wordage, and reframe the entire damn sentence. Longings pass, compulsions don't.

Until then.



Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.
A

Sunday, 17 December 2017

BlogMas 2017 Day Fifteen - #

Hello. It's Day Fifteen!
Assuredly, bringing myself up to date with this one. Since the last two days were also posted recently, you can catch them on Day13 and Day14.
There are always somethings very known between two people. Manifested, yet mute. This taciturnity, on even the worst days I feel, subsists the most vital air around them. The things unuttered, yet understood are the kinds I'm afraid of the most. It's not even what we call reading between the lines. It's just plain understood within the shared understanding of people who understand each other. Keep thinking. Joke.

Words for me are powerful. I don't hold actions above words. It's easy to pretend and smile and be polite. The words are where you find all your answers. I'm always scared of what people are going to orate next. Words are so important to me, I fall into the category of stupid who'll take your word over your sign if you mean it. And I have an elephant's memory. Things said to me, stay with me like a ghost. And I have collected some brilliantly genius ones, some intelligent ones, happy and sad ones. And on the worst of days, they battle with each other over the tenancy of my mind. We lie. WE lie all the time. And the matter of contention here is that every ghost you collect through your life, are spun out of lies or conveniences. And sometimes, these ghosts scar more than just hovering around. Words aren't just that. With every word you remember, comes a costless dead-eye. And every sense only aggravates each memory. The vision, the smell, the taste, the words, the atmosphere, the intangibles. They all harmoniously work towards breaking you down nice and easy. Just like rainwater, drop by drop over years smothers a rock. Be generous. You don't know the ghost you're leaving behind. 

Until then.


Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.
A

BlogMas 2017 Day Fourteen - 201...

Hello. It's Day Fourteen!
2017 has been eventful. Work, people, movies, writing, books, music, love, friendships, dance, drinking, singing, jumping, crying, laughing, cry-laughing, eating, starving, sleeping, running, I have lived this year. And more than living this year, I felt restless as ever. I felt alive. I felt electric. 

Until then.


Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.
A.

BlogMas 2017 Day Thirteen - Break

Hello. It's Day Thirteen!
I know this and the next one is coming up a couple days late, but I've been slogging just a wee bit more than usual, so pardon me. So I'm going to keep this one rather simple and jot down some of my favourite things I worded and are still date so very close to my heart.







Until then.


Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.
A.

Thursday, 14 December 2017

BlogMas 2017 Say Twelve - Nadir

Hello. It's Day Twelve!
An anaesthetic mind is a brilliant one, but also an apathetic one at that. Numbness is a nearly adamant quality to adapt as a human. But as humans we're also immensely soft inside. One merely needs a hand and we disintegrate into a million masses of a million people who've been living inside us all our lives. Real isn't what you feel when you're by yourself. You're really your true self once in your life when everything you take as gospel comes crashing down in front of you. When you're busy dissipating along with your beliefs. We all find lost pieces of ourselves in various people we meet everyday. I hardly believe we like anyone because they're similar to us or completely opposite to us. I, undisputedly, regard that we like people who're missing what you dropped off somewhere a long time ago. Because you associate more easily with that sparseness than you do with what you both endow. And we're always looking to lose certain pieces like nomads. Because, why not? It makes life lighter. But in this bleaching fact, we forget, that each of us is a puzzle cut into uncommon pieces. As and when we keep dropping some of them carelessly, we won't be able to fit a new one again should we want to, for that piece chimes with someone else's puzzle. Keep all your pieces safe. There's a lot more in there than you anticipate. It's heavy to sometimes carry all of them altogether at once, and some days it takes a superhuman attempt to do so. Because you'll still have your pieces to build your way out from when you hit nadir. 

Until then.


Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.
A.

Wednesday, 13 December 2017

BlogMas 2017 Day Eleven - Darzi

Hello. It's Day Eleven!
We settle a lot. For a generation that's mindlessly nomadic in their choices, we settle for things we shouldn't. And that's probably the issue. That's why we most times we pretend we're happy. The others, even if we are, we are like a switch that's triggered by the slightest of current, and we plummet into another dimension altogether in our minds. That'a because we settled, and ended up in a place we weren't meant to fit in. But we also are a generation that's bent on tailoring whatever surroundings we end up in to fit us. Don't get me wrong. That trait, though opaque, is appreciable. It's a trait that tells me that anything is possible. Anything is buildable. And most days, instead of building what suits us, we rent in with a heavy price where we don't even realise how much we change ourselves for that. Same logic as water in differently shaped containers. Only that we aren't fluid, and it hurts to cut corners and be convenient enough for where we are. So overuse your intelligence. It's something so intangible, it'll naturally lapse you into the dimension you belong in. Because your singularity, when accepted by yourself, teaches whoever is observing a great deal. So shake it off regardless of how blue you are. We all grow up to fit a mould that was made for someone else. Unmake that mould. Carpenter something new. Anything borrowed, anyway never lasts long. Things that are built do.

Until then.



Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.
A.

Tuesday, 12 December 2017

BlogMas 2017 Day Ten - Bits

Hello. It's Day Ten!
It was, today, a legit thirty-hour working day. It started yesterday, for people with weak math. Deadlines are scary and funny at the same time. And in such times, is all one can undoubtedly turn to. As I did for the last two years, I have another BlogMas Rewind. I just keep going back to older music. 

Broken by the love,
This hurt divides itself,
Decided that kissing you is bad for my health

हम आपके क़दमों पर, गिर जाएंगे ग़श  खा कर,
इस पर भी न,  आँचल की हवा दे तो

I will judge myself,
Guilty of loving you too much,
I will offer you my whole self, not just my best

लाख़ मना ले दुनिया,  साथ न यह छूटेगा,
आके मेरे हाथों में, हाथ न यह छूटेगा
The world was on fire and no one could save me but you
It's strange what desire will make foolish people do
I'd never dreamed that I'd love somebody like you
And I'd never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you 

ज़िन्दगी के रास्ते अजीब हैं, इन में इस तरह न कीजिये,
ख़ैर है इसी में आपकी हुज़ूर, अपना कोई साथी ढूंढ लीजिये 

Like a rabid beast at a foolish feast 
I'll steal your breath
Like a twisted thief with a mangled glove
It's just my nature I ruin love


You make it all seem true!
I guess I see what I wanna see,
Or is my heart just deceiving me
With that look I know so well,
I fall completely under your spell!

And still,
A glow surrounding you,
The dandelions blew
Our wishes to the wind

हँसती  बस्ती रहे वो राहें  जिनपे चलता तू,
मेरी गलियों आता जाता कल था तू,
आज भी मुझको याद है आहट , तेरे क़दमों की

Until then. (The Santa dances like me)


Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.
A.

Monday, 11 December 2017

BlogMas 2017 Day Nine - Map

Hello. It's Day Nine!
Humans are vectors. There's not one of us who moves without any direction. And probably, that's why we never have stories. Because for most of us, home has only one address. For a generation that has no sense of belonging, we're quite stuck up in one place. And the problem with ourselves is that we think we can make ourselves bulletproof, without coming to the fruition about how unrealistic it is. We don't even try to lose the sense of arriving anywhere ever. Count it out. Since, as long as you can remember, there's never been a place where you've not tried reaching. Turn that route about once. Home is anywhere as long as you meet people, you smile at them, you pass by them. All our life, we keep from turning into ourselves and take a real, good look at the map your mind is already attuned to. Use that map, manage the mischief. That's where your stories lie.

Until then.


Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.
A.

Sunday, 10 December 2017

BlogMas 2017 Day Eight - Thee

Hello. It's Day Eight!
Have you ever met your soul? Ever felt it chuffed, or screaming or mourning? That person you keep hearing inside your head is you. Always you. Your soul is the person who holds you from losing the last of your inklings when you're wailing into your pillow alone at night. Or when you reach out to the world at times when you're completely empty, but not just yet. When you reach out to give more than you can afford, because it will all come back to you. Because nobody ever wants to keep too much stuff from someone else for too long, no matter how good or irresistible it is. That Person is also your biggest vulnerability. That's the person who's hiding behind you when you're shining in the limelight, when all she wants is her pajamas and some ice cream to celebrate. That's the Person at her most aggressive when you're busy wallowing, turning within yourself.
Sometimes we forget we carry more people with us than just ourselves. There's you, that you, that other you. That other one who's running late to show up is also you. You meet millions in your life. I believe all of us have the tendency to take something from or of everyone we meet, because that's what we do as humans. We charge, invade, steal, invest and leave. We're Napoleons. We take so much and trash it all out to the back of our heads every single time, we forget there must be someone inside us who's taking care of everything we aren't. Like a good friend. taking all the good, and sieving the rest. But she's tired. And overloaded with her job. Give her a break. She's knocking to come out for some air. Let her. Take a back seat for once. She doesn't need so much and she's looking to give of whatever she owns. Let her. 

Until then.


Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.
A.

Saturday, 9 December 2017

BlogMas 2017 Day Seven - Comma

Hello. It's Day Seven!
For anybody who thought, like last two years, yesterday's was the post that I missed as a ritual. I didn't. I'm here. I also wasn't here last night because work. Always. I feel like my work is my Lily Potter. And it is quite heady. Unstoppable hours of work at an end is another rush altogether. But not when you're overdosing on caffeine. And this is definitely something that changes you. And your bias towards a certain recipe that works for you. Disposing yourself for mental and physical work for so long morphs you as a person. It does concern me however, sometimes that over-working myself does hold me back from being 100% of what I want to be. But then everyone, in any scenario, are not the same person they were. And for me, the scariest thing in this world is the possible ambiguity of knowing or not knowing if you gave your work your all. Nobody knows what will hit them in life or how much time each one of us has. For now, do what you want, and be who you want to be all the same. What I can assure you, is there'll be a lot of time to catch a breath in between all the seconds when you're loving your job. Like I am right now, writing after barely sleeping, talking nonsense, and now definitely rushing to the studio before I'm executed. Joke.

Until then.


Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.
A.

Friday, 8 December 2017

BlogMas 2017 Day Six - Ghost

Hello. It's Day Six!
Presence is a powerful thing. I believe that it's dubious to think that presence is intangible. It's not. It's so thick, you can cut it with a knife. And most days, you might not even need it. Rather, we fool ourselves into believing that we don't need it. The damn cheeky truth of it is, we're quite the scavengers for it. It's a very simple equation, like between a table and chair. Of course, a table can be used on its own, for things, not humans. When you use it, you'll depend on a chair. Something as vivid as a presence doesn't exist all by itself. With it, you feel a multitude of inklings that you never realise you collect like money in a piggy all day long. You get laughter, and conversations, and warmth, and anger, and hugs, and kisses, and ideas, and friendships. And, all that makes a presence all the more palpable. It works just as well as a cup of marvellously brewed coffee. Or at least I reckon so, because just me and a coffee, does all that. That's only until I finish it. Joke. 
But most days we fail to peg onto this. Because we can't pinpoint correctly enough between things we have, things we earn, and things we need - which, plain as day, are so vastly distant from each other that we forget to witness and understand each of them on their own. And I admit, as humans, all of us are slightly all over the place to pay much attention to either of those three things. So, take a breath. Look around. Every thing, every one of us lacks, we obliviously leech it off of those around us. And, this is all of us. There are a ton of people filling you up without their own intimation, and you are doing the same for others. And when you lose some, it's not misfortune or a pang of hurt. It's just homesickness for a presence from where you've been thrown. So, revel in it. You don't know whose residence in your life you're sieving, as you go through it.

Until then.

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.
A.

Thursday, 7 December 2017

BlogMas 2017 Day Five - Shh.

Hello. It's Day Five!

The naked honesty of,
Ambiguous glances,
There's that dishonour pertaining, of course,
But to what, just?
The greed of craving the warmth,
Of another soul?
Wise man, if he must,
Fall prey to oblivion,
For the people might be abhorrent,
To the meticulous play of souls,
But hear, something is hushed,
One heartbeat at a time,
Thumping the doors for its release,
Just me, I reckon,
But how can one fight,
Their own soul's ignominy,
"Look me in the eyes",
The voice hung in the air like fog in winter,
Like soft velvet, in the hands of a slimy lady,
The sky craving the wild blue yonder,
Defiling the night's susceptibility,
Against the harshness of the barren roads,
And he smiled, for he knew,
There's no shame, in wanting another person.

Had to write one. Until then.





Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.
A.

Wednesday, 6 December 2017

BlogMas Day Four - Excuse Me?

Hello. It's Day Four!
What do you miss having? What are you hiding?
What is it that makes you nostalgic?
What grounds you? What awes you?
What repulses you? What scandalises you?
What habit stops you from loving something else?
What's your drug? What's your poison? What's your weakness?
What does the back of your notebook say?
Who is that hidden note in your wallet from?
Which book is stuffed in the corners of your shelves you're possessive of?
What turns you on? What turns you off?
What's your name? What season do you like?
What does your coffee taste like? What time are you most vulnerable?
What is it you keep retreating to? Where is your hiding place?
Why that shirt?
How old is your grandma?
How tall is your list of ambition? How come your eyes are green in light?
How come you don't like pasta?
Which dress makes you look sexy? What's your jam?
What song do you cry to? When do you cry?
How come you never wear that shirt?
Why didn't you finish that painting?
Who did you punch last? Who did you kiss last? Who did you call last? Who did you miss last?
Which ice-cream is your favourite?
Do you like sushi? Or a cookie?
What is your most successful moment?
When was the last time you failed?
How many times have you failed?
How brutally honest are you? Or, just brutal?
How many hearts have you broken? How many hearts have you repaired?
Did you make someone smile today?
Did you hug someone today? Did you get a hug today?
Did you pet a dog? Do you have a dog?
Do you hate cats, then? Or maybe just pissed at cliches?
Do you have a middle name?
When did you last go swimming? Or skinny dipping?
When was the last time you never woke up?
When was the last time you ever felt? Or never felt?
What time is suitable for you to take lives?
Are you a murderer? Would the killing of a dream count?
When was the last you had cake? Or baked?
When was the last time you sketched?
When was the last time you snapped?
When was the last you put make-up?
When was the last you went on a date?
When was the last you bought your choice of beer?
When was.....

Ever took a breath and asked yourself all this?

Until then.



Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.
A.

Tuesday, 5 December 2017

BlogMas 2017 Day Three - Unearth

Hello. It's Day Three!
Incompletion is an art form.

As tempted as I was, to leave this post just at that, I don't reckon my blog deserves this humour jolt at three in the morning. Most times, in life, we can't see things through. Can't or won't. In either case, it really is a matter of choice, only one overruled slightly more by fear and insecurities. And, I'm strongly of the belief that certain things in life can't be overcome simply by the sheer gall of being bigger than your fears. But, I'm also of the belief that everything in life is easily ignorable. As trivial as that sounds, the easiest thing in the world is to unlearn what you know than learning something new. So, unearth yourself. Trace back where you begin, and be very clever to let the reason of that beginning be nondescript. It's easy. It's as easy as trying to remember why you started walking. Because, biology. And, yet most of us don't forget to retrace, fall to our knees and willingly even want to crawl through burning sand to achieve or possess whatever it is we want. That upheaval from your own self is paramount. I'm quite convinced I was meant to be a koala bear, but I was born a human. And every now and then, without attempting to ask why, I remember that I'm a human, and a young, independent, ambitious woman at that, I do get out of my bed every morning. That analogy is absolutely legit and acceptable. But the thing is, when you disrupt the engendering of something beautiful, you don't just leave it undone and incoherent. You break it. A thing is broken when you leave it abridged. And it does take an art form to make something seem inadequate. You have to break it, by hook or crook. Because you so impeccably choose the point of where it needs to be choked, only that it doesn't appear dead, but just crude. And, I admit there's beauty in there as well.

Endure. Persevere. Cling on. Stick around. Kick your heels. Get home that damn bacon. See it through. Let yourself be part of creating something. Whatever it was, or whoever it was. You can't ever, by any stroke of luck, be gifted beauty in life, or the possibilities of chancing upon it. 
It is something you build.

Until then.



Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.
A.

Monday, 4 December 2017

BlogMas 2017 Day Two - Cocaine

Hey. It's Day Two!
For the harshness that creeps into the weather this time of the year, there's also a softness you feel. It's as if you can wrap a part of winter around your hand and drag it back home with you. There's something malleable about it, something human. That's what winters are. They're slightly human. Humans are like mosaics - whatever they're a mixture of, somehow all of them end up looking pleasing to the eyes. Winters too, are beautiful to look at, but so grim to be in.

And that is most people in life. The only consolation is that summer will arrive. And that's also the hope most of us carry with us. That, there'll always be more people. And amidst that one simple belief, there'll always be things keeping you up at night. I could never quiet my mind. There was always something going on. Restlessness has always been my shadow. As it must be, for most people in different ways. As if there are people who dance, and people who stand against the bar and silently drown. Both are trying to quiet themselves by doing whatever they feel is extreme for them. But what when you find the thing that reins in your bustle, is a human. How do you step out of that? They tell us to be grateful about the small things in life, and yet to keep an eye out for the bigger picture always. And this is best for restless people. It's the thrill and dullness all the same. And it's the most abrupt things that are wished for. To be up late at night, or get busy in phone calls, or keep going back to pondering on the reasons why your relationships failed as if it were as simple as counting sheep on a sleepless night. But what when your drug is a human. Mostly like listening to James Blake blaring out of your speaker. Except the Blake you found, you can see, and touch and hold and talk to. As if your muse is your dependability on them. It's as if you're feeding on a brand of cocaine, customised especially for you. Do you now seek a therapist? Or more drugs? Or look for a new Blake? But there can't be multiple, can they? So you just take the beauty you felt, wrap your hand around it, and enjoy it until it melts away like snow in your hand. 
And, for tomorrow morning, all you have to do is turn the page. The next page is either only blank, or holds something new.

Until then.



Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.
A.

Sunday, 3 December 2017

BlogMas 2017 Day One - Days Daze

Hello. It's Day One!
It's been quite a few months since I wrote Ink. It's been quite a year up until now, I dare say. I'd also rather actually not, considering my life sets itself up as an appropriate illustration for, if there's ever a book to be written, about the unexpected. This year has most sufficiently (I don't know for whose benefit), has run by me like a speeding train. 

2016 couldn't pass any slower, and 2017 just wouldn't halt. The velocity with which it went by, makes me feel as though if I look back, it'll all be painted up in a big, black blotch. Funny, that it isn't. It's really has been one of the most memorable years of my life. It falls under the category of one of those years where every occurrence only led to something else - more and better, or diminishing or worse, are two different stories altogether. It almost felt like I was back in the space where I was halfway through college. I had routine. I had familiarity. I found some, I lost some. But there also was the thrill of these days that went by like someone was linking a chain fence. My entire year has been a relationship within itself. And, I barely understood the commotion in my life. Most days seemed like a mocked mimicry of a plethora of opinions the world could do better without. And most days made me want to tie them in layers of  sacks and stuff them back somewhere in the corners of my mind. But again, a few others were such dreams. But I've realised that you can get away from life for some time, and surprisingly, it'll allow you to. And there are days that you'll be put through, and you helplessly have to exist through them all, as well. Conflictingly, you never know, if ever in life again, you'll encounter the worst you can take. So, live anyway.

Until then.



Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.
A.

Thursday, 29 June 2017

Ink

My fluttering pages knew, for each time,
You walked through a rue singing its song, for,
Each time, you dived into afflictions,
Bloating your palate, with,
Walking the grievous, yet ravishing the sublime,
You inked me with all the times, you,
Crystallised yourself with the silhouette of others,
Just how a barista demands for the milk,
To dance its way into the coffee's life,
You inked me with all the times, you,
Morphed beautifully when autumns touched you,
And flushed everyone in all the tinges that shaped you,
You inked me with all the times, you,
You were a rain-laden, lone, dark cloud,
Efflorescing a flower in me, each time you poured,
I came to you with folded edges, and bleeding covers,
With blankness in pages, you coloured me up,
With the simple, and the difficult,
With the together, and the alone,
With the Van Gogh, and the Hemingway,
With the stories, and the slags, all the same,
I came to you with haemorrhaging lines,
And you wrote to me, wrote in me,
Inking in me, an anchor forever.





______________________________________________________

Love,
A.

Saturday, 24 June 2017

Lost On The Perry

Drib by drib, all the water ambitiously flowed,
Over its head to climactically reach where the world began,
Each time the water surges over it, only the rock knew,
What seemed like pelting to the world,
Were a thankful million different kisses and marks,
The Creek left over each minute,
To keep the pebbles from echoing its name,
And halting its journey,
Seldom do people realise the lull sung,
Of the gushing water,
Is the Creek's love bleeding out on its land,
For it knows it's soon to depart to a world untouched,
Even better when it rains, for there's,
Nothing better than being loved your lover, and,
Being haunted by them at the same time,
With the constant love, the constant contact,
It felt like the Creek's touch yet time and again,
Was just another echo of how much it adored the gravel,
That helped him with such grace at,
Every turn, the mountains were malevolent of their semblance,
And while the world saw the fervour of the coral beneath,
As an anarchy,
Her Creek pacified each pebble beautifully,
And she let him, 
For there lied her tendency to blindingly,
Drown in him, yet again, the longing to stay alive
Only to be picked and stuffed in a jar,
For when will the world comprehend,
Each of them rocks formed ludicrously, was only,
Creek trying to break his way through the mountains' many hearts,
The many hearts she granted to be broken,
For someone could fathom,
The beauty of breaking hearts, and letting their,
Own Creek through,
And I hear a louder hush again,
The kind, she knew, came with early darknesses,
One with the power to remove all her piths,
One that left her all marrows, and in all vulnerabilities,
Now only remains the cobbles and the rain,
The calm beyond, the chaos within,
The little heartbreaks you carry around with you,
And I was lost on the Perry.


______________________________________________________

Because.
A.

Tuesday, 28 March 2017

Love in Odium

And most times it would remain about the sheer acrimony of everything that contacted you through those tips like hot wax pouring on your skin, each time you pulled out the ill-fated diary. For, each time, you would try to corral her onto your rag of mishaps, your chagrin spread like wildfire all over the pulp, every time your prose approaches with lesser dignity but such allure, the time she validated your existence in her life. For, each time, you spoke of the winters she carried, you reminisced her pasty hands wrapped in the rusty gloves, reminding you of Christmas morning around your expiring pyre. For, each time, you would try to scrawl about trust being the first step to betrayal, you would fondly tell the worn leathers about your birthday that fateful year. For, each time, you curse her narcissism obnoxiously, I hear whispers of you humming a sonnet of her altruism when you found those orphans. For, each time, you would boast over the beer of having held her down the longest, you shut your blotters around everyone, lest anyone would read and put together untold morsels of her ballads. For, each time, you wrote about how much of a conceited tart she was, I feel a polemical rant erupting about Kipling and Dickens. For, each time, you tried to collar her in your inscriptions, I see you lighting her stories up in fire to keep you hoarded with her warmth every night. For, each time, you gasconade about your seclusion, I see you reaching for that last raindrop slithering its way through the tree, hoping you could create and destroy her again, in your own piddly rainbows.




To spring,
Ak.