the smell is the most memorable of senses. I miss the waft of your scent around me. Being the early riser that you are, I miss the freshly bathed hug you gave the “night-lover” me, each morning.

living apart after marriage does take its toll on one’s inner strength. It puts life into a whole new kaleidoscope of priorities, commitments and sometimes (well most of the times) keeps you living on the edge and on the hope of a prayer that everything on the other end of the knot is going well.

I fear the times when we fail to see eye to eye with each other. That moment brings with it the crushing realization that we are, but two souls forcefully separated by the fists of fate. I cannot show you how I feel and all that we have with each other is the sound of our voices. And the memory of our smell.

when I was a child, my comfort blanket became my partner
when I was a girl, it was the worn-out teddy bear
adolescence brought with it a fake sense of rebellious independence, giving rise to just music
And now…I hug a shirt each night. Your shirt. One of the many which are carefully and lovingly piled in the back of my closet, reserved just for those days when I miss you the most.

I fall in blissful sleep taking the smell of you, in.

Goodnight my turtle dove.

i whisper, softly, to the moon, i do. for i know it's sight is shared, by you.


at Cafe Batavia, Jakarta, Indonesia.

a hundred faded memories resting on the wall, a hundred happy faces may’ve frequented that hall. each one tells a story, a forgotten family tale..alas each has only a space, afront a rusting nail.