The Misblown Wind

CHAPTER 15 - That kind of love story

Not everything I fancy can be penned exactly. Not every day, I might even have the mood to pen everything that whacks my head. Not every day, a gentle breeze carrying drizzles can vitalize my poetic skills. Not every day what I write will make people grin from ear to ear. But still, I choose to write every single time.

I write with the blind hope that at least a few drops of rain might clear my chaotic head, provoke my serotonin, and help me pen my thoughts scrupulously. But, my crap, it doesn't rain the whole year to make me a good writer. Rather, it's sunny and the temperature is eventually rising, and I should be dumb as a doornail to even think about rain in this very month.

Oh September! Bring some wonders to reduce my temper...

I carefully carved those three dots into the page, hoping that September would be as sweet as honey. I closed my diary after scribbling all my puerile thoughts. It gives me immense contentment to write things that pour out when I'm alone. Missing that feeling would be considered an irrevocable sin in my court of subconsciousness.

I carefully placed my diary in my closet and tied my hair into a ponytail with a purple band, which suited my purple-shaded frock with a slight difference. I gazed at myself in the mirror and idolized my bare beauty.

"You're a natural beauty, Ms. Elena Davis." I gave a flying kiss to my other self, who was staring at me from the opposite end of the mirror.

"It's going to be a long day." I sighed.

But it's time to hunt for 'The fault in our stars'.

••••••

I rushed to the library once my classes were over.

After a prolonged search for almost half an hour, I found it. I found the masterpiece of John Green. I've already watched the movie but haven't yet had a chance to read the book. I thought it might be time to indulge in Hazel and Augustus' lives wrapped in these papers.

And I should be staggered if there wasn't any letter within this book. Yes, there was one. By seeing the length of the letter, my head started spinning like nothing less than a spinning top would. It was longer than the combined length of all the pages of my answer sheet. Presuming the time it might take to read this, I comforted myself on a couch nearby.

"It's going to be another usual letter!" Bearing a sullen face, I opened it with less curiosity.

You know what love is?

Love is when a simple imagination about that person would put a huge blush in your face, and you'd start smiling every now and then for no reason.

Love is when you would do anything to see that person's face, even after a happier day.

Love is when you want that person to be happy, even at the cost of letting down all your ego.

Love is when you start doing things that someone else loves, though you used to hate them utterly.

Love is when you leave everything aside and sit at a writing table, squeezing your pea-sized brain to spit out a romantic poem even after scoring a whole zero in poetics.

Love is when you begin relating every song and movie you watch to that person.

Love is when you hopelessly sit in a corner with hands holding your drooping face, waiting for a single reply from that beloved person.