One day a girl named Mrin was walking down the road when suddenly she heard the clouds crack and roar. She quickly whipped out her umbrella and was surprised to hear a loud splat instead of the pitter-patter of rain drops. But what shocked her beyond belief was when she looked down and saw a puddle of colorful muck stuck to her feet. “What sorcery is this!” she exclaimed. “Did the clouds get high on buckets of paints or am I just dreaming again?”
A room full of soft fuzzy stuff like plush rugs, pompom throws, velvet pillows, sheer curtains with tassels, extra soft socks, woollen sweaters, and fuzzy bunny slip-ons. With warm and inviting colors like white, cream, pink, and brown to make the kind of room that I’d love to nuzzle in with a book and a fluffy cat.
The monochromatic room Speaks in a whispered volume Through the window by the bed I look outside at the pouring rain Holding a cigarette. Hazy smoke fills the air Blurring the 70-square foot room I close my eyes Listen to the sound of the pouring rain Holding a cigarette.
In some kind of a dreamy state Feeling some kind of euphoric sense of freedom Smoke rises from the chimneys of old roofs The world has turned grey From the streets and the skies to the walls of the room Like the falling ash Like this metallic chair On which I sit in my white underwear Taking in a deep drag Feeling the sharpness of the smoke Buzzing through my mind Through my bare naked feet It feels right I wonder why? Why does everything bad have to feel so good? The heaviness The carelessness The messy sheets The art on the walls – The only thing worth holding on to. This greyness in the air Is like a song that plays In some corner of the mind This greyness in the air Brings out the freak inside Looking up at the sky With one foot on the chair and one hand resting on the knee Holding on to this burning desire A grey wisp of smoke curls in the air.
Holding on to all that’s present in this Dull artistic greyness Writing away all that I want All that I feel, Old memories come back to life. Where has that girl gone? Disappeared like thin air Into the mist Reckless and bold, Sassy and cold. Hidden somewhere deep inside Safe in a grey corner of my mind.
Every time it rains, I go to a cafe. It’s a blessed land. It creates an ambience of love. The comforting homey aroma of warm baked food welcomes you. The soothing, mellow background music makes you settle in. The large glass windows are so inviting, You can while away time dreamily looking outside, Watching the raindrops and the empty black wet streets. The warm yellow lights of the cafe elevate the romance in the air. The rustic wooden interiors bring back that old world charm. Oh and the mesmerizing, divine scent of coffee, How it draws on my soul! That tempting, sinful indulgence. There’s something about the smell of coffee, I tell you. That strong attraction! This is where all the yoga sessions come into play. Deep deep inhalations and a long sigh of satisfaction. Somehow wrong but feels so right, perhaps like an extra marital affair. As I call myself a chai lover. But, who can deny the combination of butter croissants and coffee. It’s a match made in heaven, don’t you think?
Now, the best part about cafes is, Somehow nobody bothers you. No one gives a second glance. When you are being all dreamy and pensive by yourself. It’s like.. they understand that feeling. Especially these cute lil neighbourhood coffee shops. Totally love their relaxed vibe. Everyone is lost in their fancy world of imagination. You can just sit alone with food and coffee. Writing down notes on a piece of paper, Borrowing a pencil or a pen from the attendants. Or, you will often find someone sitting in a corner reading a book. Or, somebody with headphones crouched on their laptop. Or, a couple – Sitting cozily on a couch Lost in each other’s eyes. Or, you will find a group of friends, Sharing stories excitedly and giggling. Or, you see a tired soul, Just stopping by to relax the bones. Whatever be the reason, Coffee shops don’t really care who you are. They just let you be. Content.
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A window looking out to a white cherry blossom tree With a steaming cup of hot coffee On the window sill. A writing desk by the window Stacked with books. Sheer curtains on the edges, Moving gently with the wind.