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February 21, 2009

He wished he could let her go. She, who smoked Silk Cuts and lived in the pages of second-hand romances. Who would stand on tiptoe, blow delicate smoke rings into his face and flit away, laughing delightedly. She, who would whisper in his ear, her breath caressing his cheek. She, who would break his heart.

7 Comments leave one →
  1. February 21, 2009 6:56 PM

    Ouch! And brilliant.

  2. February 21, 2009 7:33 PM


  3. February 21, 2009 9:01 PM

    Ajinkya –
    Ouch just about sums it up. Thanks! šŸ™‚

    Sharan –
    If you want to dumb it down to that. :-/

  4. February 21, 2009 9:33 PM

    Thank heavens she’s back. It’s such a coincidence, Suraksha, my muse came back today too.

    And what a beautiful 55. Love the header, btw. You know, its strange, I can remember almost every one of your headers. Right from the golden mangoes pile that was on when I began reading your blog.

  5. February 22, 2009 10:30 AM

    MUsh alert… some how i am reminded of Erich Segal.. i know i know, its not the same but all love stories get me started on D Erich..

  6. February 22, 2009 3:59 PM

    Sharan –
    I’m so glad she did. It shows in Untitled Bombay-4! And thank you. šŸ™‚

    It’s absolutely flattering that you remember all my headers! šŸ˜€ Yay! I think I might put up a page of past headers. Hmm?

    D Rat –

    Erich Segal, I like. And yes, this isn’t the same. šŸ™‚ If one is forced to pin a label on it, it would be a story of obsession I think. Love doesn’t quite get there.

  7. February 22, 2009 9:13 PM

    Love the template. Awesomeness

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