CONFESSIONS NEVER MADE

 We are picking up sea shells talking of clay bangles chuckling in my hands.

You confirm your flight ticket and I say am happy for you.

You ask me what I will remember of you and I don't know what to say because there are a million words I want to say. 

May be I will sell my kidney to buy ink and then will write about how you gifted me the sun.

But 

I am a Persian carpet in the middle of an Indian street,

A Bohemian soul in a Arabic desert,

A blackberry in a French dessert.

As children believing in Harry's magic.

A romantic lover of Gatsby.

A Christmas night wearing fairy lights.

A lost anklet of queen Cleopatra in Seus canal.

A delicate golden sunflower.

Dancing girl of Indus valley.

Forgotten nawab who cried over death of his favorite horse. 

Blood under nail extensions. 

Ariel raising her voice against Prospero.

Or in other words am

n o t h i n g.

And that's why you are leaving.

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