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It had been six days. Six days of incessant rainfall and still the rain refused to stop.
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“Why won’t you listen to me?” “You are one to talk!” she said with equal fervor. “Do you ever listen?” “Can we not go back to this? Every time I point out something, you point out something else. It doesn’t help. Why can’t you understand I am only…”
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I had always thought the day she would tell me she had found her someone special I would be happy and yet there were so many emotions behind that happiness, I felt like I was deceiving her when I hugged her tight and offered my congratulations.
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While watching the season 2 of The Crown, there is a scene where Margaret, the queen’s sister, goes to a photographer who proclaims he can find the inner you, the hidden you, the you that even you don’t know exists behind all the layers of masks (the curtain behind the curtain as the-character-whose-name-I-can’t-remember from Stranger…
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A dab here, a brush stroke therePerfect face. Now a touch of red,Some flowery scent, a quick head tiltAnd all is in place. Go out there, entertain the crowdGo out there, bask in the applauseGo out there, lose yourselfGo out there to break, to recreate.
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The sudden jerk of my neck woke me up. I grunted indelicately as my brain struggled to make peace with the cruel ending of the most glorious dream. I came to with a gasp, relieved I hadn’t drooled over the train window my right cheek had been plastered to. Blinking rapidly, I looked around, thankful…
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The memories flooded her like a maelstrom of vivid images, half truths and naked lies. This was the reason she had put off visiting the lighthouse for so long. But a time comes when putting something off no longer works and you are forced, by circumstances or otherwise, to confront all those glorious memories. That…
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tales of Suchita 