Seventy-six Minutes

What she looked for in every boy she encountered was a conversation. A proper soul-enriching conversation. Because she felt lonely otherwise. She sat at the cream-coloured table in class as her mind riveted back to the boy she smoked up with last week. He had big hands. They sat at the end of the rusted knocked down bridge and spoke of things people usually don’t speak about on their first dates. The bridge had several planks missing. Boltu, the university dog sat in the middle of it, resting under the afterglow of the evening sun. Their legs brushed against one another. Neither pulled away. He spoke of life in Rajasthan. How he didn’t get along with his Ma. It saddened her, but she didn’t let go of his hand.

“I need a smoke.”, she pulled away.

 

Keep your hands away

In the clouds deep – where they belong

Umm, up –

Seventy-six minutes

In the noontime of my eyes

Numb lover, come, sit,

Gaze into the pensive.

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