Monsoon is here and there’s nothing I’d rather do than curl up underneath the softest soybean quilt I can find, make myself a cup of hot cocoa and watch reruns of Sex and the City.  

I’ve never been a fan of the rains. I can’t stand getting wet in it. And I never could relate to authors writing about how romantic this season is and how absolutely amazing kissing in the pouring rain is. 

Monsoon is a depressing season. I hate how absolutely quiet it suddenly gets, how the sky is downcast and grey instead of its usual magnificent blue dotted with white cotton candy clouds. I miss sunshine, beautiful, joyful sunshine. I hate how the earth’s now permanently wet and slushy, how my clothes take forever to dry, how I can no longer step out with just my wallet and phone, now I’ve to carry an annoying umbrella which is a wet nuisance. 

Most of all, I hate how this season reminds me of you, of how we’d light a marlboro and complain about how much we hate the rain, how we’d spend chilly nights wrapped in each other under your ridiculously thick quilt, how you’d make me your signature coffee and I’d settle in your lap and we’d stay that way for hours, talking about nihilism, Marquez and Bukowski. 

The rains bring me memories of you and they’re bittersweet. 

Happy Birthday, Joy


And when we meet, hold me tight and close like you’ll never let go. And I’ll melt in the warmth of your embrace. You’re my safe haven.

And when we meet, look deep into my eyes; they say I’m hard to read but I’ll tell you a secret, my eyes can’t hide a single thing. Look deep into my eyes and you’ll read my soul.

And when we meet, I’ll touch your face, trace the outline of your jaw, run my finger down your neck, over your collarbones. I have craved this moment for months. I have craved the feel of your skin.

And when we meet, you’ll finally see the blush you always feel over far too many telephone conversations; kiss my cheeks then and watch the shyest, happiest smile spread across my face, this smile’s going to stay.

And when we meet, there will be such unfamiliar familiarity. Of souls that have gotten close over time lacking just the blessing that is physical touch.

And when we meet, you’ll see my walls come down and my heart open up again. Distance will no longer serve as an excuse. Love will consume me.