#8

Black. White.

White. Black.


Funny how some time back, they’d never seemed interesting at all. Perhaps even boring. And then, suddenly, they became worth venerating. How beautiful they sounded under that golden touch! Ears couldn’t get enough of them, hearts couldn’t stop smiling, and sleep could no longer accept remaining dreamless.

The huge black structure in the corner of the room started looking imposing. Enticing, but imposing. It became a reason for smiling, giggling, bringing souls together. It became a reason for hearts to dance. It became a reason for insomnia.


Black. White. White. Black.

They now no longer sound beautiful.

The huge black structure is starting to look vulnerable. And instead of being a reason for smiling, it has become a reason for craving. Hearts are begging for a chance to dance again.


The bench looks bare.

And that space doesn’t look quite right without the foot.


Yea, #8 doesn’t make much sense. But hey, blame the insomnia. #8 is bound to be senseless if it is the product of drained brain cells, right?

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2 Comments on “#8”

  1. radicalblackrose says:

    makes all the sense in the world to me.

    it takes a genius to decipher it.

    a super genius to concieve it.

    🙂

  2. bansuri says:

    oh no

    i fear something might be wrong with your brain cells too!
    =p


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