"yes, i'm not like you" Soul Talk by @uponmyscars •I don't look up and see just a blue sky, I see deep blue-greys that mirror the hues of the freshly washed ground. I don't look into beautiful brown eyes to look away, I admire the tints of honey against copper that breath life into me. I don't laugh just as a mere noise that comes from the mouth, the laugh is in my eyes, the vision of relaxed joy and perpetual happiness. I don't see grey hair and wrinkled eyes as a sign of aging, I see the inevitable reality of life and the years of struggle reflected upon those folds of skin. I don't pretend to be someone I'm not, I'm a handful of flaws but I put them on like they're beautiful. I don't let the negativity of the monster disguised humans around me get to me, I know myself and I know them. So, everytime I fall, I remember to rise and soar above the storms of life like an eagle. I don't fear adversities, they shape me and transform me into my better version every day. So, the next time you tell me that I'm not full of life, know that I've got a whole universe inside of me, the one you won't ever know of. . Send your stories at email@example.com for Instagram, Facebook, and Webzine Features. . #fiction#storyteller#stories#storiesuntold#minifiction#author#shortfiction#storyteller#soulwriter #soultalk#story#storiesofindia#writerscommunity#creativewriting#wordsmith#spilledink#farawayfiction
On Mondays, you were like those faded jeans-worn thin at the knees with oil stains- that you can never convince yourself to let go
On Tuesdays, your words were sweeter than the beginning of a summer song
On Wednesdays, your cold heart played a little melancholy: the happiness of being sad
On Thursdays, you looked at me only to look away while your stunning, deep brown eyes held numerous other stories On Fridays, your eyes-that had once been my salvation-only brought me visions of unrequited love and old decayed buildings with peeling walls that no longer give you warmth
On Saturdays, you were eager to tell me about your day and paint the walls anew, just the way I like them
On Sundays, you were not so sure anymore but I was sure about how unpredictable and inconsequential your love was. And it was time to let go because chaos, menace and madness had descended into my home -zaeema k .
Short Story by @adwitiya_borah . Love Yet? . I wake up tired, my body hurting in places where his hands had been the night before. The skin on my neck and breasts is a post-war battlefield and the muscles between my legs, a riverbank. I slowly realize I'm not home.
Eyes closed, my hands find their way to his side of the bed and, as if on cue, he sleepily extends his arm to welcome me. I move towards the cushion of his shoulders like a bee navigating towards a flower. “Morning,” I whisper. “Morning,” he says, caressing my hair.
I have known him for two days. Two days, that’s all. But something about him felt like home and love just the way something about him also felt like a lie. A dream. “This feels like a dream,” I had tried to tell him the previous night, knocked out of my senses as I was from all the marijuana we had smoked. “A dream?” We were standing in the shower, waiting for the water to get warm enough for us to step in. His face was pink, or at least it looked pink to me. “A dream?” His eyes were green of the lightest shade, almost transparent, and they reminded me of forests that look calm and tranquil on the surface but has a hoard of battles for survival fought every minute underneath. His arms were strong and I had wondered if I should let myself fall into them.
I had smiled instead, my brain thinking a million thoughts at one instant. “I’m so confused,” I had whispered as I fell into him and rested my head on his shoulders. Warm water splashed on my back and fell onto the floor. We hugged and then swayed slowly to a music that had never played…
Short story by @seasonofwords . Do not let me go. Hold me close to you like you did the first time under those flaming Chinar trees. 'Boonyi' you called them, in your perfect Kashmiri tongue. The fire of the leaves burned in your eyes and I could feel my soul lit up with the colours of spring in that cold autumn. It was a celebration that we were a part of - you, me, and the chinar trees. You confessed your love for me one summer afternoon, years later. You remember that day, don't you? You were watching the changing colours of the Dal lake. I was watching your feet splashing in it, the silver of your anklet reflecting the hues of the water on my heart. The music of your anklet orchestrated my heartbeat, and you kissed me for the first time. Do you still watch the snowflakes in awe, I wonder. You loved winter unlike others. It brought serenity to your mind, you said. You even sung love songs to keep us warm. I could feel your voice echoing in the icy cold winds and the pine trees, in the valley. My existence still hangs on the memories of those days when we sat by the window of our wooden cottage, wrapped in a cashmere blanket, and counted the snowflakes. The 'bukhari' burning by our side was nothing like the warmth of your hands. How did you weave magic all around you? You have made me a part of your magical universe that I cannot leave behind. My soul wanders on these snowy lands looking for yours. Winter doesn't seem to end without you. I hope you find me soon. Call out to me with your songs, your heart, and the bells on your anklets before I get lost into this infinity. #shortstory #microfiction#storiesuntold#fiction#author#lovestory#love#storyteller#creativewriting#wordsmith#soulwriter#wordporn#wordsmatter#words#spilledink#wordsfromtheheart#poetrysociety#poeticsighs#fictionwriter#bookstagram#bookgram#booktography#story#storiesofindia#writerscommunity#writing#writersofinstagram#writersofindia#farawayfiction