Fake diamond rings.

Fake diamond rings

I don’t think I’ve ever written about first love or high-school crush or anything of that sort. So, here it is! It’s my variation on first love where two girls really like each other and then stuff happens. I do hope you like it! Tell me about your first crush in the comments!

You were a reflection of me.

From the way you walked,
to the way you tied your hair.
Your footsteps were introverted –
soft, silent, careful
they didn’t like making too much noise
because what if the others didn’t want to listen?
Half-buns were your go-to,
because your first love liked your hair to be open,
and your last love liked them tied,
and you wanted to carry both their essence in the folds
of your brown hair.
You always had a reason for everything you did
and that’s what made you most like me.
Valentine’s 2014,
we got each other the same presents –
fake diamond rings wrapped in the gloves
that I’d worn on our first date. You’d kept one of the pair,
as a memory.

Continue reading Fake diamond rings.

Butterflies and crushes.

I wrote this as a guestpost for  Cultural Inspector . Go over to his blog and show him some love!

“He left me with love. He left me with Christmas toes, petty wishes and eye-lashes on the back of my hand. There are a lot of things I remember about him, and a lot of him I barely know. The first time I saw him, he was a mess. His hair was an adjective I’d use for the first time I had sex – Wild, and strangely nice. His nose was red, and he was sneezing every two minutes. In his hands though, was a cone with two scoops of Belgian Chocolate ice cream. His eyes were dreamy and reminded me of this beach I’ve always wanted to go to. His smile was like watching two drunk people falling in love. His voice reminded me a lot of a voice in my head that I hear only when I go crazy.

I liked how his cute smile was a WiFi network and everyone around him simply connected. I loved how his palms reminded me of a blanket I had when I was ten, but his knuckles were rough like the concrete I fell on when I tried riding a bike for the first time. Everything about him felt like a distant memory, and I was infatuated. It was as if I had stumbled upon a new part of my town and I just had to see the graffiti on the walls, the children on the sidewalks and the gossiping men. He reminded me a lot of a puzzle I tried solving when I was eight.

So, the next time I saw him was the first time I met him. I had a firm handshake planned but he gave me the warmest hug and I was glad cause my palms were sweaty anyway. He knew my name, and the butterflies in my stomach had a few toasts of Vodka for just that. I asked him out, and he said sure. He smiled right after, and I felt a Prusik knot in my throat. I mentally cursed whoever was responsible for handling human emotions, and because I could not speak, I smiled. I remember walking away from him, and as I did, I pulled on my fingers to try to not bounce as I walk. I spent the next few days preparing myself, but he never showed up. Turns out, he was in an accident.

I did not speak for a long time since. How could I with the knot in my throat? When I heard about his death, it was like my heart had been slingshot to my stomach and it had successfully slammed the butterflies against a wall.”

Instagram handle: @myspirals
Previous post : Blind hearts.
Related post : Home and him.

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