Tag Archives: cute

429 followers, 225 following

The minutes you spend.
Looking at her clothes. How the neckline of her blouse is just shallow enough to give away her delicate collar bones. You spend a minute too long on this, in fact. And sigh.
Onto the next. Your fourth grade crush has bought his own BMW. Ah but, you think to yourself, it’s commonplace in the states.
Onto the next. Your ex boyfriend’s ex girlfriend. You make a mental note to unfollow her. Another time. Right now she’s got a cute puppy and you’ve forgotten you hated her.
You scroll down. It’s your mum’s cool friend, showing way too much cleavage.
Further down, your own ex. A post about his football non profit. Unfollow.
Next, your other ex. Married now, posting a picture of his brand new six pack abs. You smirk and don’t unfollow him, because it mildly amuses you to see his scantily clad calls for attention, the same reason you’re still following the girl from high school you never spoke to, who makes an appearance in the next picture.
You continue scrolling, fast now because the promise of entertainment from this app is slowly waning and making you restless.
And then you stop.
Scroll up just a bit.
There.
Right in front of you.
The tiny thumbnail picture of the man you have a crush on.
It’s funny, you never thought you’d say man and crush in the same sentence. He’s posted something after two months. Not his face, not the weather, not some wannabe poignant picture of a derelict alleyway with a cheap filter and a borrowed caption. It’s a post of his latest animation, that he probably coded lying down casually in bed on a Sunday between his morning dose of Economic Times and his afternoon reading sesh (you think he likes reading Manto but you’re not sure it’s his Sunday vibe, so you don’t feature that into your imagination).
And then you scroll further. Slow now. Not really taking in anything. Memes. Selfies.
Comic strips come and go. By the time you’re back to the present, you’re already looking at pictures posted last night. With a pang of guilt you continue.
A quote with a bright background. A close friend’s terrible attempt at sketching. A stranger you follow in her latest gym attire (holy shit she got so fit so fast!). Because you like to know what exactly is up in their lives, three celebrities one after the other.
Your ex best friend with her new best friend. Your token cool colleague. And (just before it’s time to get off the cab) the guy who took his life last night.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Never a Night Better

Tickets in hand, we gathered in the foyer,
each holding our drink steady, tip-toeing
the great museum staircase, one
careful step at a time — a skip over a coat,
a slight left around the teenage couple — eyes
scanning the impossible crowd for openings
just wide enough for two.

“We got the nosebleed seats,” you said,
leaning yourself on the marble handrail,
leaving a mid-western couple to my side,
and for a moment I felt the evening
and its mystery envelope me in a rush.

How sweet the contrafact in the background
and Ivan, fast but soft on the xylophone,
and you and I, like high school sweethearts,
stealing glances from each other.

I remember the lights being dim, the soft drum
roll giving way to Larry on the tenor sax,
the way your head found my shoulder, and
the way our wine glasses kissed in toast,
as if there was never a night better.

Later, when we stepped out to face the skyline,
my breath rising to join the winter fog,
you held my hand — lightly at first,
and then with urgency.
And I could have sworn that,
were someone to see us
from the windows of the city,
the two of our silhouettes
would have been one.


This poem was originally written by Ayushman Khazanchi.
All rights remain with the poet.