I ) How I hate her long nails. It feels like being loved by a cat. Now I understand why my mother used to run after me every week with a nail cutter when I was young . Long nails are annoying. She complains about her nail paint waning , kajal splitting and her old rings unwilling to settle again in her fingers.
I wonder why she doesn't understand that she doesn't need all this to look prettier. She has a soul that suffices.
A conversation she left last night in the bed, while attempting to leave a scar on my torso with her long nail, still lingers in my mind. I wonder what she thinks of me , when reveal my uncordial relationship with her nail to her .
II) The love for my story takes over her. She scribbles the names and characters on her tiny pink diary. Her pen needs another refill, she likes to risk being without a pen , having to apply the sweet girl tactics to borrow it from someone - a stranger . She likes to risk certain things in life. On roads with a little petrol in the car , without drinking water while she travels in slums and without courage when she leaves her Delhi office late (risk it is). If you compare her with me , I will say I love her audacity as I am a little weak. I don't like her risking herself for her dozes of adrenalin rush. In turn , it turns out to be a couple on adrenalin rush.
I wish she understands , the yin yang of being possessive.
