To me, you are that long distance lover I think about, and talk about all the time, and when he finally arrives, I become so intoxicated in his charm, that I don't even realise that he's gone. Again! I talk about you, with other months. I gush about how you make me feel with your chilly airs and happy sun. I recite that Charles Dickens quote to December, and I write love letters to you during lifeless autumn evenings.......... ............ I long for our solitary wanderings, where we don't talk much. Our eyes do. Where I just lie down under a Gulmohar tree on your lap and you caress my hair and give an assuring smile. No gossips, no confessions, no complaints, only peace. I forget to give you my letters because you hypnotise me in your wizardcraft! I resolve to deliver you those letters by myself but everytime, either I am a bit late or you give me a little less time. Yet I forgive you and decorate my body with the ornaments you gift me. I don't tell you but your love sometimes make me sick. Pollens of Golden-showers which feeds nector to hummingbirds, they enter my trachea and stroke the lungs. And I sneeze hysterically when you blow kisses onto me. Fragrance of Parijat stinks with your love and gives me occasional headaches.
