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//Undelivered Letters She'll be on the qui vive,

//Undelivered Letters She'll be on the qui vive, Whenever she plans to Write a letter, to the Faceless and nameless Persona, whom she never met. Cont. In Caption... //Undelivered Letters She'll be on the qui vive, whenever she plans to write a letter to the faceless and nameless persona, whom she never met. That ebullient girl, would sit with the old pen and papers, near the dusty window; Because no one comes there. As usual, after dinner, she locked her room and went to write the letter, to that person, who rules her dreams, knowing it's a futile attempt. Even the foliage would stare at her, when she's writing. The moon would aglow brighter than ever, so that her words glisten. The walls would beseech the almighty to send the letters to the right person. Things around her would be worried. But her pen and paper never fails to beam. Her pen started to ooze, her face became waxy. She writes! She writes! She writes! The whole world is quiet. She's done with it. After sometime, she opens the window, with a hope, for someone to receive her missive. She never took an interlude from writing letters. But this time, it is not the same. This is the last letter. The last letter which she writes to her unseen parents, from her dormitory. She smiles, the walls scream, the sky sobs. Again, the whole world is quiet. She stacked the. Kept it on the window. The wind gusted. The letters flew. She sighed. She smiled. She slept. She is relieved now; believing that the letters were sent to the right place, she slept.
//Undelivered Letters She'll be on the qui vive, Whenever she plans to Write a letter, to the Faceless and nameless Persona, whom she never met. Cont. In Caption... //Undelivered Letters She'll be on the qui vive, whenever she plans to write a letter to the faceless and nameless persona, whom she never met. That ebullient girl, would sit with the old pen and papers, near the dusty window; Because no one comes there. As usual, after dinner, she locked her room and went to write the letter, to that person, who rules her dreams, knowing it's a futile attempt. Even the foliage would stare at her, when she's writing. The moon would aglow brighter than ever, so that her words glisten. The walls would beseech the almighty to send the letters to the right person. Things around her would be worried. But her pen and paper never fails to beam. Her pen started to ooze, her face became waxy. She writes! She writes! She writes! The whole world is quiet. She's done with it. After sometime, she opens the window, with a hope, for someone to receive her missive. She never took an interlude from writing letters. But this time, it is not the same. This is the last letter. The last letter which she writes to her unseen parents, from her dormitory. She smiles, the walls scream, the sky sobs. Again, the whole world is quiet. She stacked the. Kept it on the window. The wind gusted. The letters flew. She sighed. She smiled. She slept. She is relieved now; believing that the letters were sent to the right place, she slept.
hemalathag0930

Hemalatha G

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