I might be making numerals up now *sigh*. But love the new twist :)
They loved each other, knew each other. But perfect relationships just didn’t work for her. She had been unhappy. Now, thankfully, he would never know.
He tried to stop looking for hidden messages in her posts, but couldn’t. Had she been unhappy? Had it really been an accident?
“She swerved instead of braking. Probably panicked.”
Courtesy Kaushik
Showing posts with label Commentspace. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Commentspace. Show all posts
Friday, March 16, 2007
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Nomad XIX
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Nomad XVI, XVII and XVIII
I'm fast running out of Roman numerals I know.
Nomad XVI
A nomad. Without home and roots and anchors and binding, limiting ties. Going where the wind takes her, to faraway lands, places unseen.
In her head, she was that person, headstrong and independent. In real life, her adventures were limited to 20 minute taxi ride from home to office. And back. Six days a week.
Nomad XVII
Every once in a while, the routine, the meetings and the endless smiling got to her. Then she would sneak out to the fire escape and stand at the very edge, her back to the building and all it stood for. And the wind sweeping in over the sea would beckon with its wild tales.
Nomad XVIII
The wind was the perfect lover. It didn't try to woo her with flowers and fancy dinners and stories of feats of strength. Instead it talked to her till it was hoarse, and even after that. They were like Othello and Desdemona. She fell in love with its stories. If only it'd never stop talking.
Courtesy N
Nomad XVI
A nomad. Without home and roots and anchors and binding, limiting ties. Going where the wind takes her, to faraway lands, places unseen.
In her head, she was that person, headstrong and independent. In real life, her adventures were limited to 20 minute taxi ride from home to office. And back. Six days a week.
Nomad XVII
Every once in a while, the routine, the meetings and the endless smiling got to her. Then she would sneak out to the fire escape and stand at the very edge, her back to the building and all it stood for. And the wind sweeping in over the sea would beckon with its wild tales.
Nomad XVIII
The wind was the perfect lover. It didn't try to woo her with flowers and fancy dinners and stories of feats of strength. Instead it talked to her till it was hoarse, and even after that. They were like Othello and Desdemona. She fell in love with its stories. If only it'd never stop talking.
Courtesy N
Monday, March 12, 2007
Nomad XV
He checked her blog. Two weeks since the last post. Fifty six comments, the last thirty asking her to come back. Was it her obvious vulnerability that attracted people? Or her quirky sense of adventure, her stubborn refusal to settle down or to grow up?
"My deepest condolences, sir. Your wife was a wonderful woman."
Courtesy Kaushik
"My deepest condolences, sir. Your wife was a wonderful woman."
Courtesy Kaushik
Nomad XIV
Starting a new category: Commentspace. So if anyone doesnt really wanna join but leaves a 55 in the comments space we can just lump it in here.:D
Sometimes, I think I should give up. I’ve run scared, lived in the pages of second hand romances, cried quietly in the dark. It’s now time to settle down, grow roots. But then the wind whispers to me, telling stories of the places it’s seen. And I’m a nomad again, restless and a little crazy.
This one courtesy N.
Sometimes, I think I should give up. I’ve run scared, lived in the pages of second hand romances, cried quietly in the dark. It’s now time to settle down, grow roots. But then the wind whispers to me, telling stories of the places it’s seen. And I’m a nomad again, restless and a little crazy.
This one courtesy N.
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