If I had to put us in a box, it would consist of the following:
• My favourite scarf that you like wiping your hands on. it now smells less of me and more of the masalas of your favourite curry.
• Postcards that remind me of you. and the universe. making me feel grateful to have found each other and holding on despite everything.
• The flowers we pick on our walks pressed in the books that I read. some of them you read, most of them make you sleep. Fair enough!
• The jhumka you got me. Yeah, singular because you lost the other one on your way. my heart says, you’ve hid it somewhere as a souvenir of your own.
• Your empty perfume bottle. It doesn’t have any fragrance now, but it reminds me of your scent nonetheless.
• Half-written/unsent letters and poems. You’ve not read them. Yet!
• All the emptiness of the box are the conversations, that cannot be boxed/unboxed for it is what it is and it is who we are. Hopeless romantics.
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