November 3, 2015


Sly gazes.
Passing glances.
Any steady form of eye contact. Only if she willed it.
She could often feel his ardor course through her whole being.

Away and afar.
Or in close proximity.
Any ruse for the latter.
Just to be around. Her presence.

Comfortable silences. Just being.
Or free-flowing conversation.
Craving for either form of communication.
To unravel the enigma she is. One thought or gesture at a time.

He couldn’t help but convey.
And she couldn’t help but notice.
What is it that they call it?
A spark? Chemistry? Dynamics?

It was so obvious to her, and to him.
And yet never to anyone else around.


Manish Muralidharan said...

Good to have you back on blogosphere. I felt this post to be another bead to a string of posts on a common thread. Hope to see more of you in coming days, as you add more and more beads to the same.

A fellow blogger from Thrissur, who happens to be in Dakshin Kannada. (:

Vijitha said...

Thanks Manish!
Feels good to receive a welcome back too. :-)

I suppose you are right about the beads in a string thing...There are a few ideas along the same thread mangled up in my head. But, I am not able to untangle those and write a decently long story as before; so manage by with such cryptic/short posts.

In DK District, from Thrissur huh! Interesting. :-)

Manish Muralidharan said...

Neorealism is something I bring in my writings too, but usually, they are rarely connected. Anyways, I'm following the posts to see where this goes. (: