I love people Who carry kindness calmly, Like a small light in their hands … They do not wait for applause They simply move through the world With softness in their voice And calm in their heart …
I admire those Who naturally have morals and manners Not because someone taught them to perform goodness But because respect lives inside them They greet people warmly Listen without rushing And leave others feeling valued …
I notice people With self awareness and common sense They pause before speaking They understand that words can stay Inside someone for a long time So they choose honesty with care And silence when silence is kinder …
I feel safe around those Who have consideration for others They think beyond themselves They notice tired faces, unspoken feeling, Small discomforts in crowded rooms Their kindness pays attention …
I appreciate people Who move through the world gently Without making it everyone else’s problem They carry their struggles with grace They do not spread hurt everywhere they go Even in difficult moments They try not to wound others …
I respect people Who care without keeping score They give because their heart tells them to Not for praise Not to collect favors Not to remind others later Of everything they once did …
I hold close the people Who don’t make noise about their goodness There is something rare about them No performance, no loud display Just humble decency, day after day The kind of people Who simply are …
#roksanatales
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Bonhomie means a warm, friendly, and relaxed kindness in a person’s behaviour. It describes someone who is naturally pleasant, easy to be around, and makes others feel comfortable without trying too hard. The word is derived from the French bonhomme, meaning ‘good-natured fellow’ …
I came across the idea of Swedish death cleaning today, and it stayed with me longer than I expected. Not because of the word death, that part feels inevitable and oddly neutral, but because of the tenderness behind the idea: easing the weight for those we love …
Margareta Magnusson writes about sorting not as an ending, but as an act of care. A way of saying, I see you. I don’t want to leave you overwhelmed. That makes sense to me. Deep sense …
Sorting through a person’s life after they are gone is a herculean task. Grief itself already bends the spine; belongings can make it heavier. Each object asks a question: Should I keep this? What did it mean to them? Am I dishonouring them if I let it go? I wouldn’t want my family to carry that weight on top of their sorrow …
The biggest declutter I dream of is invisible, yet massive: millions of photographs. Faces, skies, meals, moments, saved out of love, fear of forgetting, or the hope that one day they’ll matter again. I wonder if they will feel like treasures… or burdens. Perhaps it’s not about deleting everything, but about choosing what truly tells a story …
Then there are my words. Countless musings, half-written thoughts, simple musings, & reflections stored away for “someday.” I imagine my grandchildren, & great grandchildren, curious, gentle readers, finding joy not in everything I ever wrote, but in the pieces where my voice is clearest. Maybe my task is not to preserve all my words, but to organise them with intention, like letters rather than clutter …
And the coins. Oh, the coins! Little metallic memories gathered from here and there. Each one once felt like a discovery, a moment of wonder. I don’t want to lose that magic, but I also don’t want them to become meaningless weight in a drawer. Perhaps they deserve a story, a frame, a reason to exist beyond accumulation …
Magnusson says you don’t have to be old to begin. Even in your thirties, when drawers no longer close and closets resist you, it’s already time. I like that permission. It takes death out of the centre and places living there instead …
I don’t know how far away I am from the end, and maybe that doesn’t matter. What matters is this: decluttering feels less like letting go, and more like choosing what love looks like when I’m no longer here …
For now, I will begin gently. Not with fear. With care.
#roksanatales
a vision board of decluttering and organising things in an aesthetic style
I began these mindful drawings in a fragile, unsettled state of mind. My thoughts felt scattered, restless, overlapping, too many at once. So I picked up colours and let them move without planning, without forcing sense or structure. I didn’t try to control the flow; I let the flow carry me. As the colours settled, so did parts of me.
While doing this, a thought stayed with me: Is this even anything? Later, that thought came back through others. Some asked, “What kind of painting is this?” Some said, “It has no meaning.” Some looked longer, trying to extract logic, trying to name it, trying to make sense of it. Others simply found it beautiful.
I noticed how familiar this felt. How people always want to define, label, approve, or dismiss. How art becomes a mirror for their own need to understand or control. And I realised, this is not new. This is human nature.
But this wasn’t made for explanation. It was made for survival. For breathing. For letting my scattered thoughts land somewhere gentle
I don’t need everyone to understand it. I don’t need to defend it. People may say so many different things. They always will. And what we need to do is to continue to do what we do, quietly, honestly, and with care! That’s enough!
And somehow, in the midst of all this, these paintings reside in a foreign land, resting there with a grace that still surprises me!
When people ask, with curiosity, what I do all day, I usually smile and reply, ‘Nothing much.’ It is a convenient answer, simple, unprovocative, and often enough to satisfy the questioner. The conversation moves on, and so does life
But the truth is far fuller
Much of my day unfolds inside a creative bubble. It is a space where ideas are constantly forming, dissolving, and reshaping themselves. I move from one thought to another, from making to unmaking, from observing to imagining. This kind of work rarely announces itself loudly. There are no fixed hours, no visible milestones, no obvious outputs that can be easily measured or displayed
In a world that often values productivity by numbers and material outcomes, such labour can appear weightless, almost invisible. Creative work is frequently compared to financial gain, and when it does not immediately translate into income, it is easily misunderstood or undervalued. Yet the rewards it offers are profound: a sense of purpose, inner clarity, emotional resilience, and the satisfaction of creating something meaningful from within
That said, it would be dishonest to romanticise creativity as something detached from real-world needs. Financial independence matters. It matters for everyone, and artists are no exception. The ability to sustain oneself lends dignity, stability, and freedom to any form of work, creative or otherwise. Passion alone cannot replace the need for security, nor should it be expected to
Perhaps the gap lies not in the work itself, but in how we perceive it. Not all labour is loud. Not all effort leaves visible footprints. Some of the most valuable work happens in silence, slowly, patiently, and away from public validation
To say ‘nothing much’ is easier. But in reality, it is a life silently lived in attention, imagination, and continuous becoming. And that, too, is work, deep, deliberate, and very real
If someone listens to a song And she appears in the verse Not summoned, not expected Just felt, like a breeze through a half-open window Then that is love in its gentlest form …
Not loud, not declared But tucked between notes Where memory breathes, and the heart still knows What it never forgot …
And if they play it again Not to relive the past But to feel her near Just once more …
Alas, the song fades! But somewhere in its echo lives a moment They never said goodbye to …
I was listening to a song when a sudden thought settled in, if someone ever hears a song and thinks of me, isn’t that one of the most deeply emotional and sacred gestures?
That moment stayed with me, and I ended up writing ‘When a Song Remembers Her’ … It doesn’t follow any structure or rhyme, but it holds something personal, love, memory, longing …
Maybe it’s a poem. Maybe it’s just a feeling shaped into words. I’m not entirely sure …
But I wonder, what do you think, can something like this be called a poem? Or does a poem need rules to be real, or can it simply be a moment that moves us? Also, I’m just wondering about you, have you ever heard a song and found someone gently returning to your heart through it?
Tell me, Isn’t it beautiful how music remembers what we try to forget?
When R stepped off the small plane that landed in Paro, Bhutan, she felt something shift, not dramatically, but like the settling of dust after a long journey …
The valley stretched wide beneath her, green and golden in patches, framed by distant, unmoving mountains. It was quieter than she expected. Even the wind seemed to move gently, as though not to disturb the stillness that held this place together …
She had arrived not as a tourist, but as a teacher, a woman in her late thirties from Bangladesh, with a degree in English and a quiet but persistent belief in meaningful work. Years ago, it had been just a passing dream, one that took root on a monsoon evening back home, when her father handed her a book after returning from a short business trip to Bhutan: Married to Bhutan by Linda Leaming. She didn’t know then that the book would become more than a gift. It would become a roadmap …
She read it in one sitting, and then again, slower. The words painted a life far from the chaos she knew: one of rhythm, simplicity, joy without extravagance. Something about it stirred her. Not just the country itself, but the idea that a person could choose a gentler life, one rooted in intention. Ever since, the desire to live and work in Bhutan stayed with her, not loudly, but like a thread running through her decisions, pulling her quietly in one direction …
It took years to make it happen. Teaching jobs weren’t easy to come by. There were rejections, delays, moments of self-doubt. But eventually, things aligned. A school in Paro welcomed her. And so she came, with a suitcase full of essentials and a heart full of the unknown …
The school was modest: a few classrooms, basic supplies, and a staff of deeply committed educators. Her students were bright-eyed and curious, some from the surrounding hills, others from the valley towns. They called her Miss R with respect and affection. She taught English, but often, she felt she was learning more than she was giving …
In Paro, life had a slower pulse. Mornings began with mist hanging low over the rice fields. The walk to school was lined with prayer flags and the occasional passing cow. She started wearing the kira on school days, awkwardly at first, then with growing comfort. Suja, salted butter tea, became something she reached for on chilly afternoons …
She missed home sometimes: the sound of the call to prayer, her mother’s cooking, the overlapping laughter of cousins. But Bhutan had offered her something she hadn’t expected, a deep and gentle space to grow. Here, her work felt rooted. Each lesson she planned, each conversation with a student, each moment of solitude looking out at the hills, it all added up to a life that felt fuller, simpler, and strangely her own …
Some evenings, when the rain returned and wrapped the mountains in silver, she would pull out the old book her father had given her. The pages were worn now, the cover faded. But the feeling it gave her, that tug toward a life of simplicity and purpose, still felt as clear as it did all those years ago …
Living in Bhutan hadn’t made her someone new. It had returned her to someone she had always hoped to be: grounded, purposeful, and joyful. She wasn’t searching anymore. She was, finally, living the life she had once only read about …
She is here … Teaching … Living near the mountain valleys she once only imagined … And in doing so, she has become a part of a beautiful story …
And at the end of each day, amidst mountain valleys, in the hush of Paro’s twilight, that felt like enough …
#roksanatales
While there in Bhutan
Bhutan has a sacred place in my heart. I visited once, and it felt like stepping into a world where everything slows down. Peace seemed to rise gently with the mountains …
I remember the kind people, the prayer flags fluttering in the wind, and the quiet beauty of the dzongs. Everything left a deep impression on me …
Rafting was one of the most exciting parts, unexpectedly wild, joyful, and full of laughter. That whole trip was truly an adventure I’ll never forget …
Before leaving, I bought the book Married to Bhutan from Paro International Airport. After reading it, something in me shifted. It changed the way I see life, more simply, more mindfully, and with a greater sense of purpose
Now the evening descends in stillness And the burdens of the day return to the hands of the Divine He knows what the heart held in silence And wraps the soul in mercy, soft as dusk …
Recently I happen to read a haiku by Bashō: Such stillness the cicada’s cry drills deep into the rocks.
It stayed with me. The depth, it felt like something more than words. That’s when I found the Japanese word Yūgen. It means a deep, mysterious beauty that can’t be fully explained. It felt just right for what I was feeling, so I kept it with me, as the title for something I’m slowly shaping in my heart …
Yūgen (幽玄) A deep, mysterious sense of beauty and the grace of the universe, often felt during twilight or in quiet moments
Your absence hums like a violin string snapped mid-note A comet that vanished before its trail could unfold The eclipse of a lighthouse on a storm-battered coast …
Time crawls, a spider weaving webs of empty hours Memories linger like fireflies trapped in a jar Each one dimming, yet refusing to fade into stars …
Your voice was rain stitching needles through thirsty leaves Now silence looms like an unfinished symphony’s grief A mosaic missing its most vivid, sacred piece…
I search for you in the scent of forgotten gardens In waves that speak like poets lost to their stanzas In winds that carry secrets of unuttered mantras …
Truth is, I miss you like the moon misses its tides A ship adrift, no constellations to confide The ache of a heart where all its echoes reside
I hope this letter finds you well. As Aristotle once said, “Knowing yourself is the beginning of all wisdom.” With that in mind, I wanted to share some important reminders—lessons I’ve learned and wisdom I’ve gathered over time …
First, remember that happiness isn’t just a destination; it’s the journey itself. Think of each moment as a precious gem to be savored. Immerse yourself in what you love, whether it’s painting a vivid canvas, losing yourself in a good book, tending to your garden, or enjoying the company of friends. Don’t hold back. Learn the practice of “wabi-sabi.” While wabi-sabi primarily focuses on finding beauty in imperfection and the transient nature of life, it also emphasizes appreciating simple, everyday moments. Appreciate more of your self-care and personal expression. Dress in your favorite outfits, experiment with makeup, or enjoy a pampering session as a way to celebrate yourself and find joy in small, delightful ways. Embrace and cherish the present moment …
Don’t overthink. Eliminate self-doubt and self-criticism. Don’t ever think you’re not enough; you are enough, just as you are. As Eleanor Roosevelt said, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” Don’t let negative thoughts take root in your mind. Instead, focus on starting a skincare routine, eating healthy meals, maintaining regular exercise or yoga, and taking care of your personal hygiene. Remember, your brain and body are closely linked; when one suffers, the other often does too …
My dear, do you laugh often? Laughter is a reflection of our inner state of being, so let it flow freely. Find that spark that lights up your eyes. Be passionate about something—whether it’s a hobby, a project, playing an instrument, exploring nature, or even just a ride all on your own …
Seek connection and company. Share your joys, sorrows, and daily happenings with the right people. Building and nurturing these relationships is essential for your well-being. The support and understanding of others can provide strength and perspective in difficult times. But also never ever let anyone tell you otherwise or bring you down …
Read as many books as you can, starting from a young age. As George R.R. Martin said, “A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies . . . The man who never reads lives only one.” Reading will enrich your life and make the most of your time in the best possible ways …
Please darling don’t forget to walk daily, move, run, or dance, for ‘to keep the body in good health is a duty… otherwise we shall not be able to keep our mind strong and clear.'” – Buddha
You have the power to create a beautiful life for yourself. Embrace every opportunity to grow, learn, and love. You’ve got this. The time is now to be bold about who you are. Hold no regrets. Try more things. Cross some lines. It won’t matter to anyone. Love yourself as you are. And remember, you are always beautiful, kind, and worthy of being loved, cared for, and respected.
Consider Oprah Winfrey’s journey. Despite facing significant challenges and adversities in her early life, she embraced every opportunity for growth and learning, ultimately becoming one of the most influential and successful figures in the world. Her story is a testament to the power of self-love, resilience, and the pursuit of one’s true self. As she often says, “The biggest adventure you can take is to live the life of your dreams.”
You’ll discover a unique happiness that comes from simply living and enjoying everyday, mundane pleasures. Imagine a painter who, after years of searching for inspiration in grand landscapes, finally finds true joy in capturing the simple beauty of a sunlit kitchen, a blooming garden, or the quiet streets of their neighborhood. Their art reflects the contentment found in everyday moments, illustrating how the ordinary can bring profound happiness.
Love deeply and passionately. Someone unique will come into your life. He won’t possess the conventional markers of success you once thought were essential in a partner. On your first date, he might give you a ride home on the handlebars of his bike because he doesn’t have a car and can’t afford to rent one. But don’t worry about these. Rather you may find that he’s incredibly funny, intelligent, and has remarkable integrity.
And lastly, be funny, kind, empathetic, caring, and respectful. Be vulnerable. Wouldn’t you agree that these qualities make life richer and more fulfilling?
You warm my heart, Roksana
#roksanatales
A letter to the younger self
The few coloring, drawings, paintings that I enjoyed doing in this July
However, no matter how old you are, there’s always something to learn from any moment or from anyone who is an integral part of your life right now. Learn what you can from those you admire and most importantly from the walk of your own life and apply it in real sense as much as possible ….
She walked slowly, But now she walks even slower …
She talked freely with the right person, But now She barely talks at all …
She mingled happily with her best friend, But now She avoids everyone …
She expressed herself openly, But now She keeps everything inside …
She used to dream of the stars But now She barely looks at the sky …
She used to dance in the rain But now She stays inside, dry …
She used to laugh with abandon But now Her smiles are rare and shy …
She used to sing her heart out But now Her voice is just a whisper …
She used to chase after adventures But now She hesitates to even try …
She used to believe in magic But now Her wonder seems to die …
She lost her beloved, her heart’s anchor, Now she drifts, untethered and forlorn …
Grief has woven shadows in her days, And joy, once bright, feels tattered and torn …
#roksanatales
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Ya’ Aburnee/ arabic (n.) lit. ‘may you bury me’ a declaration of one’s hope that they’ll die before another person because of how unbearable it would be to live without them
You cannot save anyone. You can be present with them, offer your groundedness, your sanity, your peace. You can even share your path with them, offer your perspective. But you cannot take away their pain. You cannot walk their path for them. You cannot give answers that are right for them, or even answers they can digest right now. They will have to find their own answers.
Restless I feel … My heart aches deeply … He captivates my heart …
My thoughts are scattered … Right now … Oh dear! I continually shatter my heart, Dispersing its fragments Until they touch The depths of your being, My beloved …
My Dear, It’s likely that as you were writing to me, I was walking back home from work, taking in the beauty of the flowers in my charming neighborhood …
I adore my neighborhood. The scenery is incredibly captivating with its tall trees and beautiful blossoming flowers. I frequently opt to walk home from work, as it’s only 850-1000 steps from my workplace to my home …
So, what I was saying about my neighborhood!
I really admire the shade under the tall trees and enjoy watching the breeze rustle through the colorful bougainvillea. It’s lovely to see people walking along the footpath and enjoying their time. As I passed by the mosque, I noticed people seeking relief from the scorching heat under the trees in front of the mosque. I adore the vibrant colors, the fragrant scents, and the sense of simplicity in that scene.
It was scorching heat outside. And there I found myself embracing the warmth of the surroundings. There was refreshing cool breeze and thoughts of you. It may sound unbelievable, but it’s the truth. Your presence in my thoughts remains unwavering amidst the whirlwind of life’s events. Please, believe that.
So, where was I? I was expressing my fondness for the delightful, blossoming, shady path in my neighborhood and how much I’m fond of you …
Today I took a break from work as I was feeling an intermittent cramping in my abdomen. Some rest will help me feel better. However,. Sudden leave from work leads me to think, “How can I best utilize this extra time at home?” Swiftly, I begin mentally compiling a to-do list. Eventually, I decided to walk back home…
While returning, I found myself feeling happy to see these blossoms and greens. The outside heat was too strong but I cared less and I continued walking, intermittently pausing to capture photographs.
I returned home and checked my email once again. I was so surprised to receive your mail. This news brightened my day so much that now I feel inspired to spend the next few hours painting.
I find great pleasure in painting when my heart is filled with happiness and I was very happy to read your mail.
Your words and painting will grace my own solitude for today, now and here.
Do you enjoy solitude?
I eagerly await your response to my somewhat poetic emails.
There once was a curious soul Wondering how your days roll What activities fill your time … It’s something she often wonders about … Completely immersed in the moment
#roksanatales
When I’m happy, either I sing or I paint. when I’m very happy I do both 😊
A university degree, four books, and hundreds of articles and I still make mistakes when reading, You write to me “good morning” and I read it as, “I love you” …
Can you perceive An unseen bond between us? It ties us together; trust it, my love … It’s invisible, yet unmistakably sensed Certainly by me … Do you not sense it as well? A connection surpassing time and distance… Ours is an endless bond Our eternal, cherished blessing …
Through moments fleeting and forever The thread weaves its way … Stretching, sometimes tangling, Yet resilient, unyielding … As time, as it is infinite, it will stay …
Oh, my beloved, my dear … Please pardon me, the mistake was mine Throughout the moments we shared And the clarity we’ve known … It took me a while To fully understand your essence …
Now I know This love endures, and Time, place, circumstance may shift, This love is unbroken, my constant uplift …
#roksanatales
Cherish caring hearts; love’s true wealth …
I’m uncertain if the title fits these verses. Do you have a suggestion?
I reconnected with that girl anew – Who once embraced life fully … Who danced with every step and radiated joy Whose eyes were some sunflowers, blooming And whose soul ignited fireworks, dazzling …
I played music for that girl again … In hopes that its melody would ignite her spirit within Creating a haven for her to emerge from the shadows And dance once more under the stars …
Knowing that she would find solace within these moments With each sunset painted in hues of gold And each gentle breeze whispering Through the trees …. I hoped to create a sanctuary where she could feel safe enough to reveal herself once again …
Deep within, I felt her presence stirring, A flicker of recognition amidst the silence … Longing for my kindness and effort that shimmered with possibility I vowed to nurture her return To guide her back into the light Where she rightfully belonged .. She belonged to the poetry within her …
#roksanatales
Little Roksana
The pic is from the archive of memories of a young girl; another of her mirror image. She was travelling by train, from Kolkata to Delhi ….
On this day, he reflected, “I recall she used to attend her prayers for Jumma day.” …
On this day, she reminisced, “I recall he would probably meet the girl.” …
Today, he worried, “She has been feeling a bit unwell. Will she still be able to go to the mosque for her prayers? Perhaps she should rest today. Will she ever heed my advice?” …
Today, she pondered, “When will he meet the girl? Will it be in the evening? That would be preferable. It’s quite hot outside today; they might not feel comfortable meeting in such humidity. I hope their meeting goes well.” …
Despite feeling unwell again, she went to the mosque for Jumma prayer, then in the evening she prayed for him before falling asleep …
In the evening, he met the girl, and they enjoyed their time together, discussing their future life …
Throughout all this time, they remember their memories, Yet they never announce their presence, Simply flowing directly into their hearts …
#roksanatales
I appreciate your prayers for me.
Tell me if there’s anything else you wish to put in this story ….
…
Gunnen/ dutch (n.) to find happiness in someone else’s happiness because that’s how much you love them …
His presence lingers always In thoughts, he resides …
#roksanatales
When will I be able to let go of the enchanting pull of Kashmir, with its grand mountains and stunning scenery? I believe I’m entirely in love with it.
Discovering happiness and serenity along the path and journey ….
Have you ever visited a place that lingers in your mind long after you’ve left?
A sip of tea, And a glance That we exchanged , Sitting at a quiet cafe, Where our stories blossomed … Two strangers, Just so world apart … Yet here we met Beneath the cozy ambiance, And our hearts beat – A strangely warm tune …
With every swirl of steam With every stir of sugar – The fragrant brew gradually becomes A well-woven fantasy … As we shared our tales …
There’s a bridge between us, As we sip and shared… No need to fuss though … Each word a melody Each sip a dance In this tea date We found romance ….
Time passes Paths diverge From distant lands or Just down the street For in this simple rendezvous, Our soul found A connection so profound …
She paints grace In glowing yellow … As the brush-strokes Softly glide through her skin … Hers is a delicate face Soothing and serene; Tread with a gentle touch In colors unseen .. That yellow color girl In tranquil pose .. She’s a grace …
#roksanatales
Yellow is my favourite color … which color do you like most?
Most days, when it’s Friday, I remember that on such one Friday I entered his city, and he didn’t show up …
Do you know what I was thinking when I stepped out of the airport? I never been to this airport and unfortunately I was going to stay only the night at his city ….
Our hotel cars were outside the airport. We girls got into the cars and the car was passing through the airport road to get to the city centre … the full moon was racing with us, I was watching it through the car window …with my wandering heartbeats on …
I wanted to believe that he will be there to surprise me. So without any contact with him, I was still hoping that I may see him in there at the hotel lobby and for that I was feeling a bit nervous, ‘What if he actually comes!? Should I go outside to grab coffee with him as he wanted to take me out for a coffee, or should I ask him to have dinner at the hotel restaurant as it was already late because of the delayed flight. We won’t get time for a coffee break somewhere else.’ – to be honest I was feeling very nervous too. And more importantly, I needed to give him the gifts that I’ve been carrying throughout my whole trip,… So I needed to unpack my luggage!”
“Oh no! That would be a mess!” – I was thinking about all these in my mind …
Then we reached the hotel. The lobby was normal with less people. I looked around a little bit more. “Was there any face that was searching someone?” – I was looking here and there and was thinking about this – “Oh! better if he doesn’t come now.” As if I can recognise him. I never saw him even. How stupid and pathetic I was! I was thinking, ‘I want to freshen up first and then I’ll be coming down again for dinner, and may be by that time he would come and I may offer him dinner Dosa at the hotel restaurant’ … I still can’t believe that I was thinking all of these even without any confirmation from him to meet me here! Feeling too much angry at myself ….
However, after the hotel formalities were done, we went up to our room and then I came down with my travel mate and by that time I grew a feeling of no expectation that he would come. ‘If I expect, it’s going to hurt me. It’s alright’ – I was thinking to make myself feel better and now I’m waiting for my dosa with an expectation of having a good dinner, because I was so hungry by that time through so many things and all of these unsure traumas …
Unfortunately -A delayed flight disappointed me … -‘He’ disappointed me (He didn’t come. He didn’t confirm he would come though. Still I felt disappointed as if it’s all his fault…. ) -Dosa disappointed me (I was so hungry and I was craving dosa, but it was a disaster)
Now what?
A dilemma …
To keep or not to keep the gift packet at the reception desk!
My poor little handmade gifts for him, and few other things – should I keep my gift packet for him to pick later on when he gets to know that I was at his city and about all of these!
Poor me and my surprise gifts!
Wish he would know how brave it was for me to accept his coffee date for sometime in the middle of the night …
It won’t make sense if he never comes and by that time I started having headaches. I must sleep for sometime, and so I did, having a medicine …
It was 3 AM in the morning, again our cars were on the road of his city to reach the airport. This time I took some videos of the road as a memory of the city.
Long ago when the young girl in me visited this city, she was a carefree young girl who didnt know what does disappointment means! At that time she treasured the memory of visiting the famous amusement park with her siblings – it was full of fun, laughter and pure innocent joy. That time she left the city with delightful memories.
Now she’s leaving the city with the gift she so lovingly brought here for someone she never met before, but whom she thought she knew for a long time ….
This time she was innocent too, as her feelings were so deep and true, but she didn’t understand why she would be disappointed for someone who didn’t even know about the gifts she’s been carrying for him.
But for what reason, she was upset – she didn’t understand though she’s not a carefree young girl anymore …
But she was upset, confused and disoriented because now she was carrying the gifts to bring back home and carrying a strange unknown heart leaving a bit of her heart in this dark city!
Dark, because she entered it with a strange unknown feeling and it was nighttime though the moon was there (a relief to my eyes) and dark, because her heart was broken for a completely unknown, strange, unspecified reason so she was in denial for long …
It was a Friday night entering his city and on the morning of Saturday my flight took off from his city …
So on Fridays, most times it reminds me of that Friday when I was in his city, and he didn’t show up …
A delusion!
#roksanatales
It’s a long post. I’m sorry for that. If you’ve read the whole story, thank you and tell me if you’ve ever felt the same? Or any instance that you might have felt ….
Roksana Tales 