February will be fine, when the pen is your Valentine
An Invitation to celebrate love
She wakes up, and her thumbs immediately grasped hold of her ear lobes. She glanced at the new pair of earrings she’s about to wear, earnestly waiting to witness the eyes that sees them on her ears, to feel his fingers that are about to touch the sapphire stones.
She dresses up for her clandestine meet at 11 am, under the only peepal tree in her University. She goes to the breakfast table, kisses her ma goodbye without grabbing anything to eat.
Her ma wasn’t disheartened. She knew the reason behind the urgency her daughter’s decked up self left with, for college. After all, she was all too familiar with it. She continues to make the Thursday breakfast spread, anticipating what expression of “Delicious” her own admirer would use today; her admirer of 25 years. He arrives at the table, eyes previously glued to his novel, now glimmering at the sight of his wife’s magic in dal paranthas. Their eyes meet in a mutual appreciation of each others presence everyday, of each other’s existence in life. He resumes his reading beside his plate.
“Tolstoy is one hell of a writer”, he exclaims, munching the parathas made extra soft,just for him.
“ How graciously he describes Anna !”
Anna, full name,Anna Arkadyevna Karenina, a Russian girl from a high brow Russian society, falling on her knees, begging the world to recognize kindness, as her heart falls to it’s knees, for the man society barricades her from.
The old man puts his glasses down, thinks about how fragile that word is.
That thing; Amor, which threads his mere morning, his daughter’s Thursday college schedule, and his wife’s breakfast spread.
That word, Amor, is only but an invisible string going through the holes of hopes, dreams and daily coffee musings.
Amor, a word buzzing like a bee, sitting on the flowers of poetry, art, and literature, suckling the feeling of the creator’s heart, producing the honey manifesting into our minds.
Amor, a submission of oneself to their beloved, to love, a brand promoting self care, beseeches our lives stronger than any reign in the world.
Amor is, but Love in a French love letter. The Midas touch is our super power, turning all the poetry golden, saved like a treasure trove in our word docs
Your Midas touch on something you found as an expression of love, is what we think, golden enough to share with your fellow musers.
Recommend to us, that line from a poem, that autobiographical romantic memoir, or that novel you read recently, capturing your heart. Share to us, what you yourself penned down how this strange, ambiguous entity plays a part in your own life. Let our readers view love from your own eyes, be it in a poem quote, or a piece of fiction you yourself wrote.
Tag us in your piece or submit it here, we would love to read what you love.
Let’s talk about Love.
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