Hello there, evil thing.
You must be well too, tucked in the unusual charm of nonchalantly not being you. Idiot. I wish I could live you. Actually, let me try! To begin with, this would be a different looking place altogether, and I would be addressing Truth about the beauty of its being and mine. Right now I would not be worried about when to shampoo tomorrow, because the entire tomorrow would be mine too. No, let me just live it like you do:
I am now typing out a confession in a virtual space in my bright comfortable socks and warm neutral jacket. My hair is caressing my shoulder and my neckline invites the crisp air to gently bite. The steam of my black coffee sometimes condenses my specs and generally, I am in no rush. I do not bother about the finger-food (thank god I had earlier refrigerated these dollops of corn goodness) I steal into occasionally, because my weight is like a God's - perfect, with appropriate curves and absolutely no adipose. I have caught a slight cold which would be taken care of by the fabulous chicken stew I have set to brew. Even with my nose slightly blocked, I can smell the freshness of nutrition. Once it is done I will just have to season it with a generous amount of pepper. Would do good. My garlic-butter is ready to be smeared upon slices of toasts. And a little dose of Old Monk would tuck me and my cold well in the bed. Tonight I would neither smoke nor have my zarda-paan. There is no need to set an alarm, so I would either swap channels till I have a good game to enjoy on TV, or a rom-com. I might actually go out for a walk. It's beautifully breezy now. Damn these phone pings! Tomorrow I will keep the phone on silent and read a lot of random things to punctuate my cooking and writing and TV watching. The red skirt needs to be worn. I will team it up with my black t-shirt after a relaxed hot-water bath. I will also catch up with a lot of people. This husk in the voice is rare. Have to figure out a composition for Chhuti as well. Tomorrow will be as indifferent as today. And as fulfilling.
Wow. That felt nice, lies. Not consulting the watch - shit, it's past 7 - you manipulative witch. Maybe once in a while I will indulge in you. I like the ephemeral sense of being. You have such immense possibilities to make life beautiful if only you stayed on as a reverie, and not build up to become a lie. Actually, I will no more write to you. I will describe my reveries. That is truer. Or, is it?
Reveling in reveries, living in lies.
K.
I am now typing out a confession in a virtual space in my bright comfortable socks and warm neutral jacket. My hair is caressing my shoulder and my neckline invites the crisp air to gently bite. The steam of my black coffee sometimes condenses my specs and generally, I am in no rush. I do not bother about the finger-food (thank god I had earlier refrigerated these dollops of corn goodness) I steal into occasionally, because my weight is like a God's - perfect, with appropriate curves and absolutely no adipose. I have caught a slight cold which would be taken care of by the fabulous chicken stew I have set to brew. Even with my nose slightly blocked, I can smell the freshness of nutrition. Once it is done I will just have to season it with a generous amount of pepper. Would do good. My garlic-butter is ready to be smeared upon slices of toasts. And a little dose of Old Monk would tuck me and my cold well in the bed. Tonight I would neither smoke nor have my zarda-paan. There is no need to set an alarm, so I would either swap channels till I have a good game to enjoy on TV, or a rom-com. I might actually go out for a walk. It's beautifully breezy now. Damn these phone pings! Tomorrow I will keep the phone on silent and read a lot of random things to punctuate my cooking and writing and TV watching. The red skirt needs to be worn. I will team it up with my black t-shirt after a relaxed hot-water bath. I will also catch up with a lot of people. This husk in the voice is rare. Have to figure out a composition for Chhuti as well. Tomorrow will be as indifferent as today. And as fulfilling.
Wow. That felt nice, lies. Not consulting the watch - shit, it's past 7 - you manipulative witch. Maybe once in a while I will indulge in you. I like the ephemeral sense of being. You have such immense possibilities to make life beautiful if only you stayed on as a reverie, and not build up to become a lie. Actually, I will no more write to you. I will describe my reveries. That is truer. Or, is it?
Reveling in reveries, living in lies.
K.
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