My Type Of Woman

My type of girl prefers motorcycle over car, and bicycle over motorcycle. Sketches over photographs, and pens over pencils. She is the divine morning, clothed in its abject beauty - with cloud forms peppered all over the orange sky. She's simple, real, free-spirited, adventurous, wild, happy, independent, doesn't give or take orders, has high moral standards, knows to take care of herself, focused and an ardent fan of art in any form. If you ask me, she is art herself, the way she moves would tickle my senses all over. You have no idea what a charmer she is; ever-smiling, kind, honest, and she also loves little children. She's good at something that I am not good at, and she tries to teach me. Well, right now I have no clue about what that something could be.

I could just sit by that lake, she sitting closer - with her thighs grazing mine, and listen to all her stories that beautify the sunset evenings furthermore. She has flaws, yes. She has a past, yes. But it's okay and alright. Well, who doesn't? We all have dirty laundry hanging in our rooms. What matters to me is that I still find her perfect and beautiful. If I have to be frank, I fell for her scars and imperfections, not for her skin and shape. I am glad that I am able to look at her soul while other men could only gaze at her body. If she ever sinks into her lows gathered from her troubled past, I very well know how to brighten her mood, merry her heart and make her smile. She does the same to me too, there is no doubt - she is one of the most humorous women I have ever met. Dare anyone makes her cry, I shall punch the person to death.

The best thing about her is that she doesn't try to control me, because she trusts me. She gives me the space that I need, and I give her the space that she needs too. The mutual respect we have for each other is incomparable, even though teasing is our favourite past-time and we don't mind getting crazy with our jokes on each other - even if other people are around. I cut the vegetables and do the dishes, while she cooks me food. I wish I could cook too, would have been more fun. May be one day, I will surprise her. We wash our own clothes, except for the days one of us falls sick - that is when the healthier one gets to help; oh we love helping each other. She doesn't suffer from indecision concerning important things in life, because she's clear in her thoughts. But otherwise, she intrigues me on a daily basis. Wherever necessary, I try to help - though it doesn't majorly help; but I enjoy anyways. The small pillow fights we frequently have, the petty things we argue about, the constant efforts by one to make the other happy, the teasing that gets creative everyday, the undying love and the many kisses - are all that I wake up for!

Flower and Fragrance!

She slapped him with a song. It swung him into a never-ending spin, even the shabbiest of things turned beautiful like how Midas's touch turned everything gold. Then he started hating everything that was happening around, because 'everything rosy and beautiful' is a little too much to handle. It kind of appeared so bland and the flavor was slowly fading. She read his mind, and blew kisses from her sweet mouth. No exaggeration - his heart did feel the heaviest blow, like how a pilot would explosively propel himself out of the aircraft - having mistakenly pressed the eject button.

He was going up and up in the skies, his stomach tickling, thought he would die after a while when gravity would pull him down into abyss. But a parachute opened up, and held him floating in the air. She was clearly observing his state of mind and all that she could do was - giggle and laugh. He remembered a Henry Miller quote which said - 'There's something perverse about women, they're all masochists at heart.' Yes, it did hurt, but still he found it all beautiful. So sacredly and so erotically beautiful - both at the same time.

It is true, love plays dangerous games with your soul. Until the day you exorcise all the demons that hide in the dark, every little move will haunt you. And it is not good for a person to stay inside a haunted house for long, or it might derange one's being. But however gravely bad the surroundings and the circumstances might appear, howsoever screwed up the logic - that forms the basis of our society - might sound, can you really separate the fragrance from the flower? Can. You?