Nothing, at all
Smoking away cigarettes, looking into your eyes and blowing the smoke directly into your mouth and taking a lean back and laughing inadvertently as you cough. Have you read my words about you? They say it’s filled with love and pain
Do I tell them what you are to me and what I am to you? A mere nothing and yet I tend to describe you in the most utterly beautiful way that you could ever describe a person with as rosy cheeks as you and pink lips as soft as the vane of a feather. Do you look at me the way I do at you? You are nothing to me. Nothing, at all.
I sit on the porch looking out into the meadow with an empty wine glass in my hand and a pen in the other writing these words that describe you carefully so as to not spill ink over the tender pages that you so merrily bought from the town 20 miles away for me. Have you read my thoughts about you?
Do you tell yourself what I am to you? A mere nothing and yet you walked the 20 miles to surprise me with 70 page book because your old rusty mustang broke down and you forgot to get it fixed. Why do you look so softly at me like that? I am nothing to you. Nothing, at all.
– Neha Radharapu