It could have easily been passed off as a painting on canvas of a die hard romantic painter. Now who else would paint the night sky with a careful mix of diluted pastel pink, orange, red and a tinge of yellow? Add to that sugary cold breeze making bathed green leaves dance to its tune.
Roads are washed and so are our souls, that got drenched while we were enjoying a walk...hand in hand...My hand is still in yours and your arms have covered me as though protecting me from mischieous chilly wind. The balcony is not too high...then how come it feels like the world is far below me?
The smell of coffee, I just made for you, reminds me of the day we first met at that coffee shop. And I feel the same warmth as when I did when you first held me...
This is all so perfect. Then why does it feel like a dream?
May be because it is... There are no cups of coffee; no balcony so high...and no arms to take care of me.
Only the painted sky is real and so is the playful breeze that just suddenly turned a little unfriendly as though questioning me teasingly of your presence. I look up at the painter's sky as it watches me wait for you...
Come soon...before coffee turns cold.