The Phone Calls
The phone calls were going too far into the night. On weekends, they talked till they saw the sun rise and said good morning as good night to each other. The phone bills also headed north and days were spent sleepy in college and in office.
Birthdays came once every year. There were gifts. One or two. Cards, flowers, stuff. Cakes and chocolates. Letters and photographs, kept in old shoe boxes, under the bed, or inside the almirah. Comfortably hidden under more stuff. Choking the memories.
It tastes different depending on the company. Bitter and dark like secrets in hearts of sweethearts. Everyone has secrets. The kinds that can't be told or shared. Black, just like coffee. Bitter, just like truth.
Its awkward. No one knows what they are doing. The nose is a problem. And the teeth. Oh, both of them felt teeth when they kissed first. This is the thing they don't tell in novels or show in movies. Its strange, but they pretend to like it.
They both lie.
Play with fire, expect the burn. It's only a matter of time. Now both lick their wounds, with fire in their eyes. The finger of blame points away. Always.
With a new idiot.
Just experimenting with this. Will take a few posts to get back in groove :)