To the one who makes me feel things,

𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘵?

For the longest time, big brains and small hands have conducted experiments on human guinea pigs. And found out that art, is a way of survival.

And artists?
𝘓𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘨𝘦𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘺.

Poems India is a place where the child inside me learnt to trust her ideas. You made me run away without leaving home. You, you 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 home.

We are Shakespeare’s fools, the chorus in Greek drama, Oscar Wilde’s love letters to his man. And you, you are a memoir of broken semi colons, movie parallels, and unstitched dreams. Neither the sky nor the 2,200 Instagram characters are your limit.

Every time I peel oranges and break leftover bread, I will give you the bigger piece.

Every time I count my blessings, I will count you twice.

Sending soft bougainvilleas and warm hugs your way.

Love,

𝘈 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘶𝘦𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘨𝘦𝘦,
𝘈𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘢.