A sojourn it is.
❝His scent is petrichor. He shall always be the golden page of my recollections, of beautiful memories. The greatest archer of the time❞
Derived from the Sanskrit word स्मरण (smaraṇa, "the act of remembrance, remembrance, reminisc...
Ascian [\ ˈash(ē)ən \] Ancient Greek σκιά, and later Latin ascius. One who has no shadow.
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AMBROSIAL OF LOTUS, BALMING ATPRICITY AND KINDLES OF THE FYREGEBREACE. When Arjun leant to plant a kiss in her ebony curls bestrewed on the silk pillows, he had finally arrived at the solution; this is her scent. Perhaps, not. For he can never collect words to describe her, there are no words to suffice her aurora.
"Parthjaya" he whispered to himself as he watched the sun rising in the cerulean blue sky which was never this clear before from a large window of their shared marital chamber. The silky white mattress was still in faint perfumes of those shriveled lotuses, roses and fuschia blooms beneath them. Dipping the bed with his elbow, as he slouched propping and adoring his goddess of love, his fingers danced in her locks, who was fast asleep.
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Gudakesu, the conqueror of sleep and haze was awake and fresh despite sleeping barely for two hours, his dream to admire and soak in the elixir of his wife's beauty had come true. For he don't recall how many hours he spent last night staring at Simran's serene face who was sleep intoxicated. He decided to shut his eyes for a while when he saw the madrugada painted sky approaching, knowing that he is Arjun the vigil warrior who has some responsibilities in the day. It was as if he was willingly compensating for all the sleepless nights she has spent crying and remembering him, countless.
With the tender strokes of his fingers in her hair she squirmed a little in her small space, not waking up. She slept peacefully in his presence, that was all he wished for. Arjun rolled a loose strand of he curl on his finger as he watched the shimmering of remnants golden dust on her cheeks. He smiled at her quick scrunching brows and twitching lips in faded stains of roses when a cuckoo sang the dawn song on the window pane.
A swirl of fresh and dewy morning zephyr entered to welcome the new journey of them, lights of aureate crashing from the luciform sky in tinctures of pinks and purples was celebrated by foamy clouds. Abendrot beams of the fire crimson ball on the horizon, fell on her salmon eyelids smudged in kohl and she rolled on her back so that his lover could now clearly see her face. The winds blew her black locks wrapping them more around his fingers. The ataraxian bliss of this dawn lingered a balmy warmth on her and she fluttered her petal eyelids from the weaved plexure of lashes.
