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Of Warts and Moles

I think about you constantly. I wake up with your thoughts playing in the foreground. I clench on to you as sleep invades my world and drowns me, one thought of you at a time. The melange of your thoughts continue in my dreams. I dream that I have been in a crash and you come to visit me at the hospital. There is a recurring dream in which I keep crying because I broke your toe nail. There is also this dream of you taking me on a long drive across a ravine, the car chasing the clouds and your hair smelling of wild lilies. There are other dreams as well, the once I cannot write about but you would understand.

There was a time when I used to be extremely perturbed with having to constantly carry you in me. I would often pray for a one-time memory wash. My soul would often be heavy from my burden of you. I would often cry myself to sleep, hoping that some bit of you would probably drift away through those tears. I have cried for my grandma too. Earth shattering hollers so that she can hear me in heavens and come down again. But yours were muted. Just a steady flow of my love for you drenching my pillows, and a weak moan now and then, as if an unborn child of mine had died.

But in time, my shackles of you transformed into strange limbs. Some bit of you turned into skin, some took the form of beautiful scars and warts and all.

And my dear, all these years, I have let you be, just the way live in me.

Some thoughts have to keep playing in our idle minds, why then should it not be yours? Most of them are so brilliantly colored and beautiful. Most of them smell so wonderful, quite like you.

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