Summer, Day 92

3 months is how long i thought it would take for me to forget you. but it's 2 days past that deadline i so ambitiously set for myself and i am reminded of you in every flutter of my sheer curtain, every clink of my bangles, every bite of fruit i consume. 

i so badly wanted to share with you the bundle of lychees my grandma bought for me. so badly wanted you to feel on your rough fingertips the soft outer skin of a lychee, so similar in texture to my freshly shaven legs, prickly yet smooth. tomorrow i will eat a bowlful of this fruit i love dearly and i will picture you while i peel its red shell, unravel it from the top of its plump body to its bottom. i will grieve your sweet words, sweet almost as the fresh, translucent fruit i bite into. i will watch as the sickly, sticky juice runs down the side of my hand and i will feel it dripping from my chin. i will swipe my tongue over the thin coat of lychee-infused nectar on my lips and i will remember. i will remember you

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Abound

flakes of dry eyeliner appear on my fingertips as i brush them across my face, warm against the early afternoon sun seeping through my sheer curtains, and eye sockets dry with yesterday's contact lenses still in them. over the clink of my bangles and the hum of nearby construction work, i hear your steady breathing. i wonder if i snore in my sleep. and i wonder if you heard them. for breakfast i dip instant tea in lukewarm water for us. it is almost an hour past noon yet i stir the jaggery into the golden brown liquid, remembering a conversation we had in that first month, blooming and true. "tea person or coffee person?" i asked. with unblinking eyes you replied tea, you couldn't help it if you tried.  your slow breaths bring me back to the winter of the year before the last, to your moist and shaky palms and the thin black cross around my neck. the raised hair of my nape as your tender flesh settled beside the rough, worn thread.  in the harsh midday heat your bare ...
Read more

The Last Day of March

Musings from 31-03-25 Breakfast - a half-eaten apple and chocolate-dipped biscuits Spring cleaning after breakfast Dust and hairballs unite, swirl and swirl. I read a new book under the early afternoon sun on my balcony. The kind, towering clothesline shades me, frays of worn towels flapping in the intermittent breeze. The oak chair I sit on is stained white-green by dried bird poop and my burgundy hair spills around it. Damn. My legs stretch out and hook themselves onto the low glass.  I finish a chapter. A few stories below in the building opposite mine, I see two ladies dressed in morning gowns. I wonder how they are related to each other. I land on mother and daughter-in-law. I get called for lunch, and that's that. Late afternoon, I watch a movie about cannibalism, and I am both disgusted and in awe.  Then coffee, dinner, and rest.
Read more