Supreeth Madduri

Just the other day while standing under an abandoned building similar to my heart, when it was raining cats and dogs, a man ran towards the building seeking for shelter. As apparent it was, he was all drenched. Striking a conversation was never so easy with a complete stranger, until it down poured heavily. Because everyone does look for shelter just like seeking for their souls out of life and have got nothing but share stories. The particular story of the man standing right across me left me dumbstruck. You see, relatable stories. Crazy as it sounds, but the fact is stories are never unique, just the souls dealing with it are. In the end, we're all just mundane stories narrated with different lives. As simple as that.

With nights spent listening to old-time fairy tales napping on granny's lap, so by her fingers shoveling miracles into his head, With days spent counting along with the pages of a fantasy novel, most likely Harry potter. And on one fine dawn, becoming a story himself for others to be read over and over again. Somewhere between granny's miracles and Rowling's masterpieces, he found himself as a writer on the verge of his pen's nib. Just like that.

A part of me is still hiding somewhere in the middle of a book that I haven't opened yet. I fear if I will open the book, ever.  But, for reasons not known, every other book I come across  has something interesting that I can relate to;  From protagonist saving his princess from the evil to the evil itself, at times. Protagonist as in good, evil as in, well, definitely not the other way round,  but a little less like a protagonist. The part that is not found is best kept as it is for quite a period,  so I can live thousands of them before finding the one.

The warmth of your hug at the airport; The sniff of your breath,  the smell of your cologne,  pictures of us together in your gallery dating the day you flee across the oceans  and our first ever Skype call standing beyond borders and our never-ending conspiracies. I cherish all those meticulous happiness of fervor enthusiasm, still.  Let serendipity play for us, so shall we sit back enjoy. All I bless for, is, long live video-call apps.

An old man sitting on a bench of a park amidst the city of devastated dreams,  kept lurking at kids playing seesaw going up and down until the stop is obvious at a point,  skidding down from the slide choosing to fall down over and over again for the love of joy,  twirling around on a merry-go-round until heads fall down,  chaotic ambiance yet so serene at the sight of playfulness. Feelings once experienced and correlating them to his life flashing in front apparently, tears failed to persevere at the tint of his eyes.

Shape me like a mud vase, running your fingers through  my thoughts of perpetual swirling. Let them thoughts entangle every gap of my bones and every pause of breath. Let everything you do suffocate me so  as to breathe the fresh desire of  eternal togetherness,  more and more.

She barged into his heart of gold paved with joy and harmony, Forgetting the destination stayed she, with her soul full of determination and symphony. Together they walked through the streets of torment and cure, Together they shared the stories of laugh and pure.   "...they were their own reflection in each others' eyes. Just like a mirror."