Scrawny and shorter than usual, his genius reputation entered the room a few seconds before he did. There have been afternoons where his presence was too overbearing for a girl of only 17. Afternoons that wore out my thumbs pressing the keys to type to him; stories. Afternoons I spent trying to walk through the musty roads of Bombay to not remember his face anymore. Every other song was our song but lyrics faded in the recollection of us. There were afternoons that I could have spent with my physics tutorials, but instead I wrote letters to him. Now every question about my stoic existence comes back to him and especially the sentence; I once had a boy.
I don't anymore but that doesn't bother me as much as the feeling that one fine day I will begin to say this sentence and you will call me and tell me that I was wrong.
I will walk the streets again that day.
I don't anymore but that doesn't bother me as much as the feeling that one fine day I will begin to say this sentence and you will call me and tell me that I was wrong.
I will walk the streets again that day.
5 comments:
I can almost feel every word of this, been there, I once had a boy too. Similar, though not scrawny, who had my attention from the word go. Yes, he was beautiful.
:')
I tell you this over and over, you warm my heart.
Yaar, thenks :)
I get the feeling of it. Isn't there always a boy, who made the girl tough? And the boy who made her weave dreams.
1 you write so effortlessly !
2 you write precise and never drag.
3 plz write more !!!
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