The Unmindful Teardrops

It was a foggy morning in the month of December. The desolated clouds came down to make love with the misty window panes, the rays of sun were playing peekaboo through the dense cloud cover and the roosters were too lazy to sing their sunrise song; it was an usual winter morning scene. The marooned curtains in my room concealing the nudity of those window panes felt quite happy on getting their souls drenched with the sunrise on the hillside. When a bundle of rays finally managed to sneak through the curtains and fondle my eyelids, the Earth was about to complete half of the rotation around its own axis.
With an emotional overrun buried in the pillows, I ran my hands through the bedsheet for a gentle stroke on her dimples. A peck on her cheek on a sluggish winter morning used to be our thing since she came into my life. To my surprise, my anxious hands felt nothing but a cold and numb pillow lying by my side. I woke up to this emptiness, and the calendar on my bedside table helped me to travel back into the world of actualities from the mirage of abstractions. It was the anniversary of our separation; the day when she bid adieu to this fancy world and I was left all alone to live with this burning sensation forever. A cup of strong sugarless black coffee was kept on my bedside table to swallow those anti-depressants but little did they know, nothing else could induce the flow of happy hormones in my rugged body but a mischievous smile running down her cheeks.

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