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Sourik Datta



Sourik Datta


Not A Word My Way...

Not A Word My Way...

2 mins 359 2 mins 359

Another day has passed by

Without you not sending even a word my way

With me still deluding myself

That you would drop by, the morning next, unannounced

With your angry pout, your loose hair leaking the burgundy streaks, your egoist eyes accusing while you be stomping the ground with your shapely legs, your denial of you being hungry yet pause to gobble up the measly Maggi, that I would be serving on your favorite quarter plate

And two warm cups of coffee that I would be striving to perfect, even if that would mean not listening to your complaints about me

Brief silence.

And then you would be nodding that my apartment is clean, cozy and comforting enough for you to move past your anger, and you would suddenly hug me from behind saying for the rarest time that you thought you had lost me!

And finally you would kiss me on my forehead while I feel your warm breath stroking my face, your nape smelling of your favorite conditioner subtly proving that you too cared enough to groom for the occasion, that you too had been longing for this morning, when we would be locking ourselves in and making love the whole day as if the world would be ending that night

Then we would pass out exhausted in each other’s arms, cuddling like infants to their protectors, like believers to their gods, like headless love clings to anxiety

We sleep naked, vulnerable but complete that way

And the day next

I wake up to realize that, yet another has passed by

Without you sending






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