Just a story every Indian deserves.
I cried every night to the thought of losing her. I cried every night to every change that life and love had brought to my life and what my love had left for her.
She was beautiful like no girl I could ever imagine in my dreams. She was like a bird who taught me to use my wings. She floated in my heart with every thought that brought me happiness. She was the lotion to every bruise and every scar on me. She heard my calls and dictated my life as no ever had. She defeated every sorrow of mine with the faintest of her smiles. Her words were the song of my days and her eyes were the dreams of my nights. Every inch of her personality is something what my brain craved for and every mistake, it denied.
I loved her, she was my damsel. I loved her, I saw my life within her, that even she could never deny. In every thought, in every misery and every smile, she had her place. For every time she walked past me, it felt holy and I could have filled a whole shrine with verses when she brought me in her embrace.
Every inch of her sweetness brought her lips the pinkness they soaked on mine when she brought me closer to her to call her mine. She was my most beautiful thought of the day, she was my wine. She was a hangover which could last several nights, and I would still be drunk in her memories, drowned in the vicinity of the smell she left over my bedsheets. She was my caravan, my home who walked on legs and I lived in her. She told me she would carry me with her.. ..Until one day a curse made her leave my hand and left me in ruins with this distasteful and dreary tavern.
A dream she told me she saw with me with every night that we followed towards a day on which we get married, entailing all our happiness and life with it, the disaster was nothing but what this world of hypocrites started, they called it caste, I call it my culprit. I die every night wishing to wake up as a Brahmin. Wishing to talk to her parents as she peeped from behind those curtains where I would only see her confidence that they would agree and let me call her mine which she allowed me already for over a decade. I wish I die here tonight and see her when I open my eyes. See her telling me she is mine and see her call my name the way she told me she would after I kneel in front of her in Paris.
But this could never happen. This could never happen after something I couldn’t do anything for flew in my blood and became the reason I wish my blood evaporated. I hope it evaporates sooner than I see her holding some wrist which does not have the same vein as mine pulsating inside it.