To ink a muse is in itself a muse. And as I write this piece, I gaze at street bustling with lovers, lost not in each other, but in the chaos of vacillation. Here’s a super short story on this lucubration.
It’s a crowd where a million lost souls are searching for their mates. A second back, that one on the left corner of the street caught a glimpse of his other half (or he at least thinks so).
Here, on the lamp post, two love birds are singing for each other.Their pounding gives their song a rhythm. In a confused world, they seem to be the only ones sure of their choice.
A dismal and lost girl awaits her second chance at love. She has a confused gaze. She’s thought someone else’s shot to be hers. And now she’s wondering who is playing her sling at the game.
I know what’s crossing her mind. I know she’s wondering how many of the love-struck people are with the ‘owned’ but not ‘belonged’. What if all of us are wide of the mark? Would the reaction be something like – Oh! I think I picked the wrong one?
Imagine the chaos if it happens with everyone at the same time. That girl on the street could get a second chance; she could get more than a second chance. And the love birds near the lamp post? Well, they’d either find a way or fly away…to be together always.
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