Is water ever enough for the parched land? One rainy season can never
suffice the un-quenched thirst of mud. It needs repeated showers on the inside vaults
of its bosom though it may have loved one season more than the others.
He may cherish her in all probability more than the other interests but
then she knows that she can never be enough for him. She can always feign
discomfort and distance can be her biggest savior. Once that diminishes, she
will be rampaged by her own desires, cheated by her own thoughts, annihilated
by her own self.
Let him drench in the drops
of other rains. She was in blithe to be a whiff of gentle tranquilizing breeze
on his tired shoulders and contused soul.
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