So I searched through my pockets, grabbing some time of isolation and peace. The roads were wet, dark and slippery. It looked like a reflection of my own soul. It was when I called for your name, receiving odd stares and sympathetic looks from people around, I learnt that you'd never come back. They stood in a hem, hands in hands, sharing the same umbrellas, making me realise my loss with mockery cementing their features.
And a hope in me still remained there, roaming around the very borders of my heart, with sparks of fire, waiting to change into flames.
You did come, though. Being the rain and the monsoon breeze, you did ran into me. With drops of rain, covering inches of my skin, you sheltered me in an embrace.
And atlast, being the sweet, sweet wind, you carried me away. With birds offering me a pair of wings and the flowers gifting me a blooming energy, you did carry me away, honey.
You did carry me away.
YOU ARE READING
The Untold Stories.
Conto// The Untold Stories. \\ " We're about the books we read, and the poems we love." - Kritika Banerjee. A collection of paragraphs, nanotales, poetry and thoughts from my journey. Highest Rank - #78 in short stories on 29/6/17 ...
