The rains have been the most awaited season of my life. I love the fresh rain falling on my perch, releasing the intense aroma of craving earth. I can relate myself to that lonesome earth, which gets drenched with the moisture of heaven. 

I remember, when we used to make love. I could feel the goosebumps, every time I nibbled through that slender neck. The fervour of your love would last on my skin for the rest of day. Even after years, I starkly remember the days when I used to go to work after that morning love and your smell could linger on my body. 

There were times when I resisted the artificial perfume on that orange skin. The freshness of last shower with water droplets on your tidy skin, melting my lust to the core. I remember those passionate scrubs when I licked off every tiny droplet of water off your skin. 

Times, how we made love for hours sweating in the drizzles of monsoon on the terrace of a rented appartment. Times when the bike drives used to be romantic in the torrential rain. 

Time has changed. How it changed me, I don’t realise until this season. Rains are no more a romantic stride. The season holds the melancholy of your memoirs. They bring pain. They bleed through my lonely heart in the agony of how we loved each other.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s