Cinderella’s shoes.

“Upon the palms of my hand, I have written your name.”  – Isaiah 49:16

He had never felt the warmth of her fingers before. He had anticipated it to be like the warm sun on a cold morning, something that would make him shiver and smile. He had imagined it to be like hot coffee, the softest quilt, and the rush of caffeine in his veins. He pictured it to be normal, with a shade of love. It was nothing like it.

Late at night, as they looked at each other, too tired to say anything, he touched her face. His fingers trailed on her skin, as he touched her cheeks. They were cold and he would want it no other way. He held her face and looked at her as shivers ran through him. And then she touched his face. Her fingers trailed on his skin. They were cold and he would want it no other way. Everything inside him froze, except where she held him. He felt no rush of blood, and he could feel her fingers getting colder. And he liked it. It was like walking toward the sunset.

He placed his hand on top of hers, and let the fingers intertwine. They fit like puzzle pieces. The cold was slowly ebbing away. The warmth was returning to their fingers, their cheeks were getting redder, and their eyes were locked onto each other. It was 3:04 A.M. and he remembered something. “Nothing good happens after 2 A.M.” And he knew he was screwed. And he was happy.

They say hands are like Cinderella’s shoes.
They say hands are magical.
They say hands are what makes tomorrows.
With her hand in mine, I think I had more than just tomorrows.

This wasn’t normal, with a shade of love. This was love, with a shade of insanity. The sun was setting.

“People fall in love in mysterious ways. Maybe just the touch of a hand.” – Ed Sheeran


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Related post : Midnight.

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Home.

This post is completely about me.

“Souls tend to go back to what feels like home.” – N.R. Hart

Home is the nicest word there is, insisted Laura Wilder.

Home isn’t always four painted walls and a cozy bed. And it isn’t always two warm arms and a beating heart. It can be anything.

I’ve been shifting from city to city all my life. Sometimes, even countries. And so I’ve made a home that has walls made with memories and painted with a tint of nostalgia. Michelle K said ‘Nostalgia is a dirty liar that insists things were better than they seemed’. I don’t mind lies anymore.  Here is a small and brief glimpse into my home.

  1. My family and I were walking back to my apartment, giggling and talking about songs as we licked on our ice-creams. The walk from Baskin Robbins wasn’t a long one. So, back in 2010-11, 10 year old me did not care about anything except the ice-cream that kept melting and dripping from the sides of my cone. As my parents walked behind me, and we were less than twenty steps from our building, I decided to try and stop the dripping by licking the cream. As I did, the scoop came right off the cone and fell down. I was left with an empty cone and a family that just could not stop laughing.
  2. Two years and a different country later, the first day of school in India really terrified me. Of course I had been here before, when I was in first grade, but a lot changes in six years. I took the bus to school, anticipating what the day could possibly be like, all the way to the school. I met my class teacher and she took me to my classroom where thirty students literally shout my name out when I entered. I remember the big smile on my face as I sat down next to someone. The same day, a few hours later, when almost everyone had left, I took out my lunch. A yellow lays. As soon as I opened it, a few students come and share it with me. I found one of my best friends that day.
  3. By the time I finished my first terms in grade eighth, me and my best friend had started having sleepovers every night. We basically lived at each others places. Surprising our mothers daily (Although, they weren’t), playing every possible sport, and doing any thing that could push us over the edge and into the category of clinically crazy.
  4. 2008 – we shifted. 2012 – we shifted. 2015 – we shifted. Aren’t these memories too?

Home for me was four colorful people and a lazy (also, crazy) day out. Home for me was a bunch of warm giggles and a throbbing rush of blood to our cheeks. Home for me was a constant blur of memories, and random pauses. I miss every place I have been to. Although I miss the last one the most.

Now I know all of this might mean nothing to you. But it does to me, and as I promised, I’d like you to know me for the person I am along with the words I write. This is part of the infinity I am. Find your home. Build the next curve of your infinity. And when you are done, don’t stop. We are the infinite spiral of space, with no end at all.

“If we were meant to stay in one place, we’d have roots instead of feet.” – Rachel Wolchin

Bless this home ∞
Adieu.


Previous post : A ghost with a beating heart
Related post : Friends.

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My happy place

“Dance with the water,
move with the sea.
let the rhythm of the water
set your soul free.” – Christy Ann Martine

The warm smell of summer,
The heat of the sand,
Breeze mixed with splashes
Of water and calm.
The waves moving back and forth
Becoming a metaphor all along.
The clear water
Washing away my anxiety,
My fears, and
My thoughts
Becoming a metaphor all along.
Blue above my head,
Blue under my feet.
Telling me what life is.
It’s cold water and
Scorching heat.
It made me happy,
It made the words inside me happy,
Becoming a metaphor all along.


Previous post : The thin line.
Related post : A ghost with a beating heart

Friends, if you like reading my work, do share it with your friends (on whatever social media you deem appropriate). It would be amazing to have more people reading my compositions. Please help my infinity grow bigger ∞