The lose pyjamas and daddy’s T-shirt that she’s wearing gave her the familiar smell of her own. Easing up her long legs in the divan, she feels in love with the freshly spread out floral couch sheet. She carries her eyes through the couch head, on the entangled patterns of white rings till the far end and down across the finely drawn red flowers, accompanied with soaring leaves, against the sweet orange milieu. It’s gonna rain, she thought. But the clouds only turned grey, formed into lumps and floated away clearing the sky. The blue curtains that were blown up by the pre-rain wind settled down as the sun showed up widely.
*Poetic lines climb downhill*
I sat up, thinking what to write next. When nothing striked the over thinking mind like half of the times, I walked across to my room, poured a glass of water from the flask that was placed on the bedside table and returned back to the couch. Picking up my phone from where it was chucked earlier, I bounced back into the same floral pillion; hoping to construct some creative words. But void, not a dicky bird. I laid back. And thought it was okay, to sometimes not have it your way. I went inside to pour down another glass of water as I always believed that whatever happens, drinking should never stop; water to be precise. More than what my doctors said, gulp down litres of it for easy blood circulation and how your peers adviced it for a fairy glowing skin, it was out of habit, force practiced by my father from the time I was a school going girl. Two glasses every morning, hot blazing water. Before brush, he’d say, like he did. But up from bed, our mouths stinked of sleep, me and brother proffered streaming them down after quick morning brush everyday.