Love Shorts #30

Every time we part, I feel like a child whose favourite toy has been taken away from him. One such occasion might be our last meeting.
Even though I look at her longer than I should at times, it can't provide for the void her permanent absence would leave in my life.
Being practical, I tell myself not to think of what will happen eventually and to live this moment which is full of love, hope and possibility.
Life is a perpetual tryst to find true love, and the only way to succeed is giving back love.

Love Shorts #9

               

...
Sometimes I imitate her way of talking. Sometimes she mocks my expressions. Sometimes we say the same thing at the same time. Sometimes we do not let each other speak. 
We laugh at these situations. We have plenty of personal jokes to laugh at.
''I love laughing with you,'' I tell her. ''My idea of great music is the fusion of our laughter.''
''Nice thought,'' she gives me a rare compliment. ''And what is your idea of noise?''
''Only one of us laughing at our personal jokes.''

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Love Shorts #8

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When Earth is too hot to bear the heat, the rains come eventually.
When everything is dying of cold  in winter, the spring comes eventually.
We are like nature which needs no alarm to carry forward a remedial activity. We apologise almost instantly or before the next episode of our conversation.
I sounded like a PR for nature's managerial skills.
She cuts me short by reminding me about earthquakes, cyclones and floods. ''Nature never did betray the heart that loved her, '' she quoted Wordsworth, and then added, ''but neither did it spare the one that messed with her.''
The conversation was over.

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Love Shorts #5

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it was not a very cheerful day,  or if it was, the cheers didn't reach me, sitting at the far end of the social group. She noticed my despair perhaps and let me hold her hand, without a word or for anybody to see. I held it for the soothing comfort at first, then drawing patterns on her palm from  the tip of my index finger..
''What were you doodling?'' she asked me later. ''I felt some were impressions of English alphabet.''
''They were all the compliments I could not say to your face.''
I could sense she regretted not paying attention.

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Love Shorts #1-4

This January I plan to write about a 100 word semi complete love story. This is my submission for day 4, followed by the previous 3 days. Stay tuned for more.

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₹4
The wet leaves tell me that the night was foggy. My wet cheeks tell me that she was here.  For all our conflicts she dug a graveyard, and tilted its mud with hand and love for fresh flowers to grow. Each morning is a spring with her. ''How do you forget and forgive so easily,'' I text her. ''I neither forgive nor forget. I am saving it all for your doom's day.'' She texts back with a wink emoticon.
The spring has been crashed by a storm.

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#3
She sits at the window for long hours longing for her moon The night is chilly and she is cold. She fears not its coldness; she has become one with the night. She is determined to stay awake for the moment when the sky breaks down and sends her moon to her.
I watch her sitting at the window for  long hours longing for her moon. I pray either she attains her moon or I attain mine.

#2
At times her laughter chokes her words. At times, she finishes her sentence in a hurry to moan. At times, she innocently teases me with her mocks. At times she keeps on talking without a pause. At times, she speaks every word with an effort, and at a pitch cube root of her normal day voice. I see all these coming as I follow her eyes. And yet, even when I know that she is down, I keep asking her'How are you?'' For I hear that most people answer falsely to this question. ''I am fine, '' she says. And I hope it turns out that way.

#1
She greets me with her tender feather touch as fresh cream floating on milk and then begins the theatre in her eyes, where I see multiple scenes at once. Not sparing me time for a knee jerk , she beckons me with the most encharming darkness as she covers my face with the clouds of her hair.  Ending the exhibition with her most beautiful smile, she asks, ''You call yourself a poet and cannot write something on my beauty?''
I sink in her air and smile, ''I am not a poet if I write on that aspect of your beauty, which is for all to see.''
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I would love your feedback on these pieces and if you have any sub theme for my next piece, I would try to write on it.

Thanks for the read.
Cheers.