The flight’s landed twenty minutes prior to its promise and I can smell last night’s forecast lazing around in the air as I wake up from my much needed, eight o’clock nap. I still don’t care much about how my hair looks after the heavenly slumber treat and trust my French braid to make me look stylish enough to pass off as today’s fashion. But, I subconsciously carry a comb in my bag because Ma liked to redo my hair and part it on the left as, I swung my legs three inches above the floor. I can feel a sting even today just at the memory. Especially today.
Buried in souls
Filling gold in cracks
I’m wearing the maroon pullover
You gave me on our fifth anniversary.
It’s come straight from the dry cleaner’s
And it smells of rose
Instead of sandalwood.
Say, have you looked up at the sky tonight?
The stars are bright and,
The moon is new.
The five o’clock twilight is right around the corner. You can see it painting the white dining table in hues as though the sun’s hiding behind the black trench coat in the corner of the room like a child with a missing milk tooth. The room smells of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. It’s been two years since I’ve been here and, I never realized how much I missed this place till she opened the mahogany door. Her smile is still the same. It’s just that there’s a few more grey strands and the wrinkles have grown deeper. But the smile is still the same. And she still wears the same shade of red, lined with a subtle maroon, highlighting her cupid’s bow in the most powerful way possible. You’d think she’d be delicate but her hugs embrace you with warmth and firmness. Do you know those hugs that are like a safe haven? The ones that make you feel safe? Like nothing could go wrong? Her hugs were like that; joining every broken fragment within you together.
This is where you left.
An alley behind the quarters; a place away from the crowd. Overgrown gardens and homely vehicles.
My hair’s drenched,
Cleansed with the scents of lavender
Dripping off, lining my nape with rainbows
As the two o’clock sun dances with it.
The blow dryer does a decent job but,
Nothing dries my rebellious curls
Better than you
Continue reading Daddy’s Little Girl
The treasures of my cupboard are sprawled around me as I sit cross legged in between them all, rummaging fondly through the old box of black with patterns of bronze. It’s a typical summer afternoon along the coast with the humidity dripping along the tattooed nape of my neck as the chocolate fan tries flirting with my chocolate curls tied up in a messy bun with some of the shorter ones spilling loose from the bondage. I come across a string of pearls in a transparent packet that I never wore; something that I always wanted adorn my collarbones with. The string of pearls you’d gifted me. I take it out of its wrapping, gently wrapping it around my fingers as the reds of my nails bring out their white. It’s funny how it still manages to tint my cheeks with the shy pink, the same way it did that day as you took it out from the depths of your beige pockets and slid it along the green bench towards me. My heart still remembers the surprise it felt as it flutters even today, making me smile at the string of memories that flow in. Someone once rightly said that memories are like a box of sweets; you can’t just stop at one.
Stay, they told me
Every relation goes through bad times
You can’t just give up
And leave, they said.
Stand out in a crowd.
You don’t search for it
Yet, you’ll always find it