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Dear Charlie, I wonder if you're even there on the end of this deal to read this. It really bothers me if you are not, but maybe that would be a better part. You know Charlie, I dream in chess boards and exam papers. I have come to think that I might be thinking too much about them right before sleep. For proof, it is rather 11.57 pm right now,the classic bed time and I am thinking of you. Charlie, you were in a book. Or you're . Well, not very classic and I can be the girl who sleeps at 9 too but I do not wish to miss out on fun. Yes you may ask me, what fun exists between 9 pm to 12 am heh? Its not particularly a gold mine of fun, but it certainly eases my mind out. No Charlie, I am not having sex in that timeframe. I just kind of chill around. Music you know? Charlie I had completely forgotten about you and I apologise for that. I knew there was a time I re-read your hand written letters and thought to myself that there would not be anyone that exists like you and that was both amazing and terrifying at the same time. I do not think you were the god's reighteous fella but I find you pretty reasonable with your thought process eh? I think I had brief moments where I was extremely jealous of what Sam and Patrick had. I did think it'd be great to pass through tunnels while listening to a music on high. To feel infinite and not limited at every instance. I wonder if its just the people you shared the moment with that made you feel infinite or was it just you. Plain you? I write very weirdly Charlie. I often sit and think, boy who should I write to and usually go with the first person that pop off my foggy brain. I am never able to completely write off but today seems a little different. I think I am exploiting this time very nicely now that I am getting it off my system completely. You know I often predict patterns very well. I am well aware of what might happen next. I sometimes willingly walk into the hot ashed stones still red. Maybe its the idea of feeling strong or the idea of what if it isn't this way eh? I also kind of randomly write things about people and its crazy because I do not exactly feel that way on the surface. Its always when you peel out a few levels and you'd be suprised of how I have been keep subcoscious diaries about people. I am not really interested in them Charlie. For one I think its all just web my mind had laid down for me to get stuck to. Like a self sabotage you see? You click one of these folders and you keep wondering for days, weeks or months why you even have this information, or why you took out time togather it even. It is honestly a waste. Relationships are. Okay, who am I kidding. I havent really encountered a person who is interested to kno me yet. I mean, I did, previously eh. But that's the thing you know, you eventually figure out all the stories and soon there's none to tell. being more honest there I kind of push people away. So I think of a time when you used to be relatable to me. You kind of are. I mean, you seem to be the guy who would wait for a random friend to tie his shoelaces whilst your entire group has moved forward. Or the guy to wait for somebody confident in their road crossing skills to cross the road side alone with them. We arent really Christmas kinda people but I remember this time in school, Bunny knew it was me that had gifted her. I dont even remember correctly, but it was a notebook, a pen and a keychain maybe. I still cannot think why I would gift somebody a copy but in my defense, I thought everyone was psyched on seeing new copies as much I was. Oh yeah? I loved my hanwriting and that led me to write a lot. Not academically because I would eventually get tired of writing pretty and later on get accused of forgery. It was crazy day when I showed my teacher that I had no stable way to writing and would just change based on mood and time stability came to us really late Charlie.

I have been watching a lot of web series/anime/movies lately. When it comes to movies, theme based on villages or middle class really gets me. It could be the relatability or the fact that we dream bigger than us. With anime its usually some heroic action series where the protagonist is out there to save the world and ‘help’ others despite being weak or not cut out for it. If I make a Venn diagram out of this the common thing out here is hard work that eventually leads to satisfactory ending. Satisfactory because not all stories start with zero and end at 100. Satisfactory because 100 is not the largest number on the scale. And being honest, zero to hero never happens in 2 hrs. 18 mins. You reach a 25 and keep going up until you reach a 50. You get stuck dejected. You may fall back to 24. And gosh, so many choices. You go forward, or you stop, or you try again? And in case it has still not broken your will, you try different things and eventually reach a 100. When you’re at the top in there and take a breath after all the adrenaline and the feeling of winning has washed out and all you can think about now is, “is that all?”. Well, I call that relatable. Anyways, this is not what I wanted to talk about. I just felt like singing about the unsung pats on the shoulder. Parents just slowly get relatable as you grow up. Not completely but you can see the mechanics behind their choices. The ‘try’ to provide with what they could consider the best. I could mostly hate it, and I do, but sometimes I really feel as if its preparation for a war that I’ll be off to someday. The taunts or the strictness, or the ‘learn to do this on your own’ or the stories about how society functions. I don’t think I have ever appreciated it(like father like son) as much but it, at times feels like a cheat sheet on being good at what I do. Criticisms made me better(not all but okay let’s give credit where its due). Now, this all could be a repercussion to watching those many stories on the television that I have this moment of appreciation where I circle out the endless unconditional support and just one condition on the line, “do your best”. Calling out on the fights or difference of opinions, it’s a part of being together. Be it anywhere. Well I am pretty sure I’ll be kicking in the dust or punching the air depending on what happens next. Either way I just want to remember feeling this way. I am a forgetful human you see.

Here’s a little something for you. A day. A heart wrapped in a sweatshirt. A cold winter with pecks of sunshine. The stardust falling off from your eyelashes like fairy glitters. The road, filled the clatter of two souls, walking side by side. The street light their perfect candle , perhaps a little brighter. Not enough stars to count in the wishes of a life falling of the subtle branch of potential. All the potential just turning into the ashes, sown back into the earth like it finally belongs somewhere. Empty canvases filled with white, a colour unseen, a little delight. The chuckle of a mad man. Words. Tons of them. Futile promises of a long period of time. A thief. Stolen kisses. Never a heart. Pages. Pages, full of people, but not one alive. Time turner. Turns in time. Turned days into nights. A crawl into a stumble, a stumble into a walk, finally he ran. He ran so fast, that he leapt through dimensions. Parallel words where skies were brown. The sea was solid and the land melted down. The Cinderella never lost her shoe, why would you part with something that fits you so well. Perfection was a myth. Or even so, is it? A small offering to my dearest writer’s block, XD.

Today I was out in the wild life. I had to get admit card for my upcoming exams at college. I just want to describe a series of events. The first thing that happened was that a lady fell between the metro gap while boarding the metro. Another lady helped her back up, when I saw the scene my intrusive thoughts went like what if they start the metro now. She got up, however she took a quite time and I was just standing at the metro door with my shoe against the door cause I did not want the metro to go without me. I finally moved in when she got up. She had a really huge book held in her hand, it was elements of mercantile law S. Chand. I wondered if she had exams and that would explain the situation. Some middle aged dude in the metro said metro gap is so huge anyway and she faked a smile. He didnt know he wasnt helping by telling her about the humongous jaw breaking metro gap. Inside metro, I shifted my attention, I did not want to talk to the girl as she had enough attention for a day and she probably did not want to talk about it. We got a seat, we sat. The next thing was that I found a little baby girl and her head and nose was really small(so were her feet, and hands). Her eyeballs were too huge for her eyes, it looked adorable. I just kept looking at her the whole ride, also checking stations every in a while, since I have the history of missing my stations cause I was busy looking at toddlers. So this young lady kept checking every human on the metro and then proceeded to eat her hand. I had to check if she had teeth, and I leaned down to see insides of her mouth. She didnt have any teeth. She was not much of a smiler, she only smiled when her mom said somethings, which were not audible. There was another lady eyeing her with the same cheer I had. We exchanged smiled glances. I could tell, she was also finding this little one's company lovely.

You know, when you smile your eyes narrow, and I have a feeling that cannot be faked, much of it anyway. I got down at my station, and proceeded to walk to college. There I got to know that I had apparently come on the wrong date and the whole purpose of my visit was soiled. I did not feel much bad as I was probably decaying at home. A fresh breath of the smoke was all I needed maybe. I stopped by a breakfast restaurant before getting home, had pav bhaji, calculated the amount of space I had to squeeze in some noodles. AND FAILED. After standing in front of the menu 15 mins, I ordered some Dhokla to go for Granny and told myself I was one amazing person cause I saved money there. These out of nowhere pats on my shoulder make my day going. I also decided I'd get some momos from outside but by the time I reached outside I was impatient and just wanted to be home. Oh and I saw one more child. He was making monkey sounds in the whole place. On a second thought, it was probably louder than a monkey. respect to parents. I had around 10 notes of 50 and I was counting how much more I can order, and suddenly, this lady, out of nowhere comes and says can u give me change of 200 u'd give it to them anyway. I was spooked for three seconds as she was probably eyeing my money. But what she said made sense so I gave her four 50s. I got that 200 broken again by the store. the monkey child, oh god, I imagined putting a whole bread bun in this mouth so he'd probably just stop screeching so much. At my way back I saw another toddler, she got into the metro and she swirled on the pole thrice in a row and very speedy. I went woah crazy. her dad told her not to, and she like a nice child, did it more . HAHAHa. I loved that. okay yeah that was it, i got back home and slept for 2 hours. It was raining heavy, the air was misty and everything was amazing for sometime.

Sach kahu, lagta hai jaise naraz ho tum mujhse. Abb, meri kya galti, tum hastey bhi nahi aajkal, chup chup si baatey hai. Kuch toh kammi hai, jo humey khali hai. Hass hass ke theek hai koi baat nahi bolti jaa rahi, mud ke dekho toh lagta shayad khud ko pagal bana rahi. Shayad hamarey kuch nai meh bahut kuch, or aaj nahi, meh koi kal tha hi nhi. Abhi se kal, kal se parso, kab honey lagey. Hassi meh khamosiyan janey kab ghulney laggi, Taarey bhi janey kab tutna band kar diye, jaise koi icha hi nahi bachi. Din badal gaye hai, raatey bhala kaise ruk jaati, Sona sabse aasan jaise, or uthna sabse mushkil, Raatey na abb jaagti hai, din bhi kuch ghum se rehtey Yu chaltey rahe badal, Or tum bhi chal diye, Hum ruk jo gaye yahi ruke reh gaye.

last email I wrote something a few days ago. It was 15th of June. It's been a while I have written to you. You know there are a lot of things, but I wanted this one to reach you. I like my pictures lonely. The way it feels like it was spring the flowers forgot to bud and bloom, like a day the night took over. Like a story that started from the end. But all stories start from the end, don't they? I like my pictures like the locks that keep falling on my forhead, and get pulled back behind my ear. Yet, they're back again. I like my pictures like the half eaten pizza couldn't finish, and throw away as well. I like my pictures like the stars that didn't twinkle at all, insecure that the moon is worth more to be watched. I like my pictures like soil, just after it rains, and the way it tries to just sink you in, BUT WAIT! You don't like rain...okay so let's take the sun. You know, something about you? You're so sunny! I like my pictures like you. Just like you. Sunny on a winter morning, just the way you like them. I like you. You feel so warm. I guess that's why my heart keeps melting. Just kidding. I know I haven't actually met you, or hugged you, how do I know that you're warm? You just feel like it. I miss you every day, not like every hour, but atleast once and the I can't count how many times I do. I sometimes wish I got replies. Also, I feel selfish for expecting things in return, but then I feel like I am...anyways. I am sorry for not being there. Sorry. I wish I was. Yours, Adi

If the stars breakdown, Do they get mixed in the soil, Do plants grow there and become trees, Do stars look at the earth, thinking of the grave of their old ones? Do they still mourn, gasping or they just blink? Is just blinking a mechanism to cope up with the pain? Or is it just some refraction of stupid lights which makes us think all of it? If stars could break away like that, why couldn't we? Why couldn't we just break away, like blast, Getting mixed away in the soil almost like disappearing from the existence of whatever we could've been. Our potential lifes? But that will never become real. I don't exactly know what all this is supposed to mean. But why do you wish when a star breaks away? I don't know . I just feel like we are somewhere the stars. Do you ever just think about it? It can we that all of us have one star that resembles us. Some people die everyday to put up to certain wishes of people. People are stars. All of us. And the sky is black. Moon is idk. Some beauty perfection shit. Everyone wannna be like moon. Can we just give attention to that tiny little star the corner? Look how amazingly it's all alone in there. The way it wouldn't form a constellation, be like everyone else. I guess I love it for that. Because. You still shine.

you feel like everything I got. I feel like I could write stories and stories about you. But where am I in those? Am I even there? hello. I want to go on the top of the world and confess how I just, I just do not want to be sensible around you. I keep thinking about us, more than you know. more than you'll ever know. Cause these thoughts will never reach you. Call this miscommunication, but my love likes to sit on a rocking chair and read a 70s love story, discussing if I'd want the Heathcliff kinda love more or Edgar's sunshines. This is me. I want you to know, and I'll wait for the day you ask me. you make me go dumb, and I have never loved being dumb so much. Sounds like my doom. smells of it. love it.

I think of the stairs, and I think about falling I look down the floor, and I walk like I am crawling A talker am I, or a listener you A killer I am, or a killed you Tremble at the border of edges, or skim across Run against the shadows Or let them cross? Everything's faster and faster when it's race, Oh and hey and where's your grace?

So this is basically a declaration to myself. A talk with me from me. I know it feels like everyone is doing things that are 'happening'. The dim light pictures on a street with a few street lights and petting a dog whilst there is nowhere else you got to go feels like a dream you want to live. The idea of being 'present' and doing something practical and making it 'count' seems to be a blip in your imagination. You can no more feel the air or sunlight on your skin. I did not dream pizzas and cafes but I guess even plain old grass is something unachievable. I guess the basic motivation to move forward to me is not anything else but plain grass and actual human beings. No, plain grass, human beings and some

I saw the Rain meet the Soil, in an afternoon Sun's toil, I saw the Rain meet the Soil and l saw him let her slide Take within, and let her subside I wondered if it were the Rain that planned the same or it was the angry Clouds who threw the Rains out of her house. Rain had nowhere to go, in need for a shelter, she found a home. Now that they're together Rain , all moist and numb and in want to succumb , Taking a lift from the Air, decides to go back to the Clouds She must have changed Rain squeaks And the cycle repeats Clouds defeat the Rain's will Pledging to never see Clouds again The Rain storms back to the Soil's bill This time the grief is too much for the Soil to suck in He tries and tries and never knew such highs To Rain it feels like the pain will never stop ever Though, what's the proverb, never say never? Tis like a handpump's pushed lever, After a while the weather's clear, As to where the story ends tis when the Sun sets The river town slowly melts.

I saw the Rain meet the Soil, in an afternoon Sun's toil, I saw the Rain meet the Soil and l saw him let her slide Take within, and let her subside I wondered if it were the Rain that planned the same or it was the angry Clouds who threw the Rains out of her house. Rain had nowhere to go, in need for a shelter, she found a home. Now that they're together Rain , all moist and numb and in want to succumb , Taking a lift from the Air, decides to go back to the Clouds She must have changed Rain squeaks And the cycle repeats Clouds defeat the Rain's will Pledging to never see Clouds again The Rain storms back to the Soil's bill This time the grief is too much for the Soil to suck in He tries and tries and never knew such highs To Rain it feels like the pain will never stop ever Though, what's the proverb, never say never? Tis like a handpump's pushed lever, After a while the weather's clear, As to where the story ends tis when the Sun sets The river town slowly melts. -Persephone

I drag my feet across the sand, I wet my eyes with ocean waters I steal a little thunder from the clouds And throw a tantrum like the waves on a dusky night I roar to the winds, I let the wind howl I let the spirits run dumbfound and skittle They whisper in shushed tones, she's the devil's mittle I gasp and I sigh I let my emotions high I let the ground crack and take me in I let the ship sink I let my heart drown I let everything and everything down It's a woman's rage, that'd lead the world to an end age You'll cry and weep Sing songs and pray sleep And when the sky showers heat the other side is where we'll meet.

Hey, I know we haven’t met lately, but today we did, I held you across my lips Like a lie you slipped through out of a frowning face, You even though not the best in shape or size Always had been little eager to criticize, I look at you, and a mock comes into my mind But I held you across my face, Until my lips reached the canthus of my eyes. You’re moody aren’t you? You go and come at your will, Never tried being a slight civil? Sometimes I force you on me, You dry out like something pulled out of ground, dragged in, pushed out, But you, my dear never shout You slowly build a house with broken sprouts, The birds eat them a slowly away, And like everyone else, you let them have their way! But today when we met, My hair all pretty and set, The sun kissed me and you together, We laughed out in a symphony, shying away, pieces in pieces, tender A moony pretty weather, Can I not hold you again? Tomorrow or just another day, or the next time it rains?

chuck chuck chuck, get up she said as he pulled the blanket off him. That was the last resort one could walk into the cold winter mornings. The first thing that was revealed was his legs. Long hairy legs. His shorts yanked half up, crunched around the thighs. His stomach was bare, the t-shirt had slid up and was jammed around halfway his chest, the mouth was open as he continued to drool. Compact saw the scene and immediately reconsidered the decision, what if unveiling Chuck was hitting the boundary? The cold air spread like a colour, in those drawing books, and he came back to the land of living. He shivered and coiled around himself like a prawn in the pan. He opened one of his eye and peeked. Taking a while to locate the person realisation struck him like thunder, he stood up in a jolt what the freak?! what are you- he said while adjusting his clothing doing in my room he continued. ah, get over yourself, you don't exactly have a droolable body. I came to apologise for last night she said. Did not know apology begins this way. Plus, you could have waited outside, but no, you decided to walk in at 7 am and pull away my blanket he said with a straight face. OH my my, sleeping beauty, it is 9. I am late. and guess who else? YOU. get up I aint got time for your tantrums, no time for shower just brush off that stinky breath. Oh god, its like some rat died in your mouth Compact said as she walked out of his room thinking some privacy was required. Chuck could have replied with something wittier, but considering the time crunch, he decided to let her win. He opened his closet, finding for something fresh to wear. Patience had given up on him after digging his hands deep into the pile and he turned towards his love to help him out. Black. He wore black t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans along with. Compact started her cycle and Chuck sat in the back of it. From the looks of it, we all expected a car, or atleast a bike, but here they were paddling on a cycle like seven year olds going school.

Neville and Xavier walked through the train while it hit the icicles and while it fell down like a biscuit dipped in tea. Most stories start with a less climatic beginning. A motion of relieved atmosphere, and that is when two people meet, in the idea of an evening tingled with sizzles of a symphony, a sunset, and a friendship that in the later chapters might result in either death or love. Or love, and after that, death in a chronological order.

Stories that start with once upon a time always do end with a happily ever after. Not this one. Or not the best ones ever written. But this is neither a story, nor a spoiler alert, you’ll know if you want to. Now, wouldn’t you? Once upon a time in the kingdom of Contradicnia was a person named Celus. You’ll be wondering how the name of this place sounds like a disease, and it could be because it had one. The prophecy was at least an decade old. It was declared by the monks who worshipped the Endermon, The god of future that everyone who was born within the walls of the country shall be different. “One who shall be born, is one who’ll be dead, the seeds on the corn turn into lead.” The monks feared the Endermon and his wrath, and decided to take the matters seriously. It was informed to Achilles the king of Contracdinia and the court was set to decipher the code provided by the God of Future itself. The chief ordered the court to present ideas, and it was not before a stamped of words had taken place. Some courtmen agreed that it was the god’s idea to make them rich with a lot of lead, and completely ignored the death part. The public of Contradicnia waited outside for to know what was about to happen. Some rumor had it, and it will it had something related to corn. The corn farmers grinned and expected a corn shower. Rest just stood in anticipation of results. The life story of Celus As it were known for the prophecy to come true, the unexpected took place. Poor farmers ended up becoming rich landlords as it were destiny and told of it since after they were born. The rich feared their sons and daughters would put an end to their legacy of fortune. The wealthy saved none for their progenies, after all who fights the destinies? Contradicnia grew popular for its contradiction in life. Everyone knew what was to expected, and what to become. The stupid laughed and rejoiced, “our children are gonna be wise!”. A havocking night had just begun, a storm had taken place. The cheer died, and people shut their houses tight. For someone out in the Enderman’s temple, a baby cried. The wind sung a lullaby and then cradled the child down the stairs, blood was everywhere. A family of two living nearby, heard the silence after the cry, the lady of the house rushed out. In the storm, she roared like a ship with no bounds, as if called in the gods to put a pause. She picked up the baby, wrapped him in the old bedsheet cloth, and rushed back to her hut. The farmer kept the door open for her. “Sonja, you would have gotten us dead” said the farmer. “The child asked for me” snapped back Sonja to her husband as she tended to the baby’s wounds. “We’ll wait for the storm to be over. Maybe we’ll find her parents” said the farmer. “Hmm” said Sonja, while she waited for the declarance of life. It was the morning that the baby cried in a shrill tone, Sonja held him close to her chest and wept to her fullest. Miranda and Celus --- The law of opposite ---- The birth of the differents ---- Helen and Elionis

Clara The first time I saw Clara was when she was but a child. Her hands were so small, and her eyes were somehow bigger than her nose. She was like one of those pixar animated little girls with wonder waiting eyes. Clara was a student in the school I taught at elementary level. It was my first job as a teacher. Clara had so many questions. All the kids did. But when Clara said she’d never fall in love, it was concerning coming out of a kid who was in kindergarten. It was a statement that shook me as all I could see in Clara’s eyes was love. She was a child oozing out with love at every glance. More likely, she wanted to give it more than to receive. She was like a live version of BMO from Adventure Time. As a teacher new to the job, I was told by the authorities to be professional. This meant no involvement of emotions with my students. There was nothing wrong with Clara on a normal child rational. She liked to race on who copied the white board the fastest. Her lunch was regular tiffin. She did not cry easily, but I remember whenever she’d get angry at me, she would bubble her face out, as if there was water inside her mouth. I am pretty sure she had learned that from the cartoons she watched. Another thing about Clara was that she could not be angry for more than a while. Eventually she would forget what was she angry about and mix in like the usuals. Clara’s parents never showed up the parents teacher meeting, not the three times report card were given in. I’d hold onto to it, hoping one day her parents would be so wanting to see their child’s progress that they would show up. Just like that a year had passed and Clara moved on to the next class. Just like that I had a new set of students to teach. I saw Clara a few times after that around the corridors but I had no solid reason to personally involve in asking questions. A few years had gone by, I had made progress. I was assigned to be the head of the grades sixth to eighth. This meant taking care of events, and if someone made in a trouble. It was a busy job but I knew it was

i)Mom cried the first time she saw me go, I was happy, and I told her how my first day of school was. She did not look at me. She stared into blank space. I could see my reflection in her now glassy eyes. They looked like looking at the sidelines of a beach. A high tide was due. She did not blink for the seconds I did not count. When she did blink, it was pulling a lever to a dam, and the water made its way to the city. It started with one small drop, a rain's warning, but more drops followed. I shook her, “Mom why are you crying? Aren’t you happy?”. She did not hear me. Was it a game? Minutes later she was back to me. She said “Let’s celebrate our first day eh?” and we walked down holding hands, with her asking ‘what else happened today?’ and me going on about it. ii)Today she was home late. The liner against her eyes was smudged. It was a daily thing, and so who’d notice? I never did. But today there was a different abruptness in her actions. She tells me to never eat in bed. She ate in bed. Her hands were shaking while she held one end of the spoon. Had she gotten so old in a day? my eyes followed her figure through the dark. She was done and had turned off the lights. As she slowly slid in under the warm bed sheet, there was nothing. I think she was asleep. I waited for her hand to land on my temple, as she’d pat me to sleep even if I was already asleep. It was her love language. There was silence. She did not speak it that night, or if she did I would not know. I fell asleep waiting.

Fox The Pigeon, stood at the edge of the cliff. He looked down and saw endless possibilities. To live, or not to? Fox had lost a lot in his life starting with his wife, Foxita the Pigeon. Fox knew that he had to compensate for her loss of life. He thought about the kids Ox and Ita, what will they do when both of their parents are dead? But who cares, they’re pigeons, they can figure out their drill. And so Fox, stepped forward, took a breath and let the skies feel his wings. But Fox the pigeon forgot that he is a pigeon. And the good Lord gave him wings to fly. So - as fate would have it - instead of fluttering down straight and being hauled like a cotton base of blood, he started flying mid-air and ended up on the side of the roof of the neighboring house. The cliff was obviously a cliff of his choice - but as pigeons don't have vision as good as the human beings who created the houses, he couldn't understand that vertical alignment of structures is possible even when the magnetic field of the earth is horizontal. Fox didn't become the Hamlet-a tragic hero he was supposed to be by the readers reading the first para. But there the story unfolds. If Fox died in the first para, nobody would have been able to know what actually happened to Foxita and her children Ox and Ita. And now, just because the story has to progress, all worked up and flushed, Fox heads for the home where Ox and Ita are sleeping. Fox was a young boy of 12 while Ita was a girl of 11 years old. They were two dumb kids but they were smart when it came to sneaking up on the big talk. Fox, the pigeon knew that there was a way he could get Foxita back. She had run away with the neighbour, Pigeon, the Fox. Fox knew that something was weird about the tension that'd be there when Pigeon visited on monthly checks. Pigeon was one of the officers in charge of the animal kingdom. His duty was to go on monthly visits and charge the food tax. Fox sat on his bed dull, he felt the place where Foxita would usually sleep, mumbling about how her whiskers needed some trimming. Fox wished he had given more importance to her nose that would collide to the ceiling everytime she looked up vertically. He kept thinking what he'd tell the kids, where did their mom go? he took a sip of cranberry juice and closed his eyes. The kids looked at him whilst he was asleep. Ita got a blanket and Ox got Fox a pillow. They tucked him in whilst he was deep asleep, and proceeded to fall asleep just beside him. The night was beautiful. Fox got Foxita's face hung up in the gallery of his mind like a sunflower planting its seed in the melody of the mud. Love springs up in places it is always least expected - so was the case of Fox and Foxita. In fact, from the perspective of Foxita, it mayn't even be love at all. It was customary in the houses of pigeons to marry some higher animals, like foxes or lions. Now of course Foxita wouldn't let her womb up to a creature that may just gobble her up after an intercourse whatever the pride is. And Pigeon the Fox was her parents' favorite too. The marriage was almost fixed. But Foxita rebelled. Rebelled because she had to. Without rebelling she felt like there was no character of youth. But her rebellion ended up in the home of Fox, whose ceiling even wasn't enough for her beak to give space. She thought to herself, and even loudly - which Fox lately heard were growing more frequent - what a poor choice she had. Fox thought it’d be okay soon. Her wife Foxita would eventually fall back in love with him. He’d think about the days Foxita would put food in his mouth when he was sick. Sometimes she’d poke him accidentally while sleeping. He remembered all those days and realized that Foxita was gone a long time than her actual elopement. She kept telling Fox that she was not “into” as Fox had forgotten to love her like he had promised. Foxita on the other hand, was out on the shoulder of Pigeon, the Fox. She kissed him with passion and a hint of guilt. Foxita was in Pigeon’s home, in her bathrobe waiting for Pigeon to come to bed. She had a brief thought about her children before Pigeon was back to the bed with a glass of whine and much love to provide. She felt her crinkles tighten up, and her youth come back while she clinked the beak and cheered to her new-found freedom.