Talking about body issues, feminism, and the feelings I feel.
No one talks of the love you lose on a daily basis.
I.
In blooming seasons,your butterfly kisses — I sprung alive.
This is how it is.
I stop myself from gushing about Kafka and other writers whom I 100% love more…
Calcutta, I see you through clouds from the window seat of aircraft 6E 757. There are cirrus clouds hanging low, mirror…
Like this, and like this and no more words now.