Art by: Subash Chandra Maharana He had left the windows open that night. It wasn’t normal as the calendar read “12 December” in bold red, studded on a picture of a snow bed in some far off place he already had a Saudade for. Supine was he on his ages-old bed that squeaks every time he tries to find some comfort. Motionlessly, there he was lying, almost like a carcass but having a pulse still strolling in some vein of his body. The body named Akshit and that feeble pulse, named, Ziva. Turning around he spotted some stars through the gap his window provided him, a gap that allowed him to keep a track of a syzygy, hoping that would justify his love. Just then, that happened, suddenly, abruptly, and in a trice! Yeah, that epoch slid down the path from maybe a star he stalked each night and hugged him. A past, a name, a soul. In those dark memory lanes that his brain had, a street graced incandescence. That pulse got a bit stronger and with a throb reached his heart. He could no more find t...
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