I was talking to D sometime back and she asked me what I loved, like a physical feature, about the guys I have loved in the past. And I couldn't tell her a single thing about a single guy. I remember the long agonizing nights I spent crying over them, I could tell you the number of stars that twinkled every night or how the sea-green walls offered comfort, but I don't remember if I loved their eyes or hair or mouth or hands or what else.
I don't think I could paint them from memory if I had to. I found that weird in retrospect.
And the more I thought about it, the clearer it became that I never took much notice of the physical form. I always loved the idea of them. The wondrous and magical place that existed between their ears kept me engrossed and busy enough for me to notice anything else.
And when they left, their dusty faces were easily washed away by the rain, but the idea of them stayed back for a long time.
I don't think I could paint them from memory if I had to. I found that weird in retrospect.
And the more I thought about it, the clearer it became that I never took much notice of the physical form. I always loved the idea of them. The wondrous and magical place that existed between their ears kept me engrossed and busy enough for me to notice anything else.
And when they left, their dusty faces were easily washed away by the rain, but the idea of them stayed back for a long time.
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