She drinks water in sips. She hates traffic. She loves those frills around her dresses.She love to fold the pillow covers. She loves dark chocolates. She loves the crust of the cakes. She likes her breath after a cup of coffee.
She wants to whistle when on a long walk, only she doesn't know how to. She wants to fly, alone. She wants to climb the highest of the mountains and sit there till the stars come by, alone. She wants to love someone. She wants to meet someone by the sea shore who would never let her go. She wants to be someone that she herself won't let go.
She lives in the extremes-dark nights or bright mornings. She gets intoxicated in twilights. She wilts on those lonely afternoons.
She loves to put her hands under her armpits on winters. She likes writing her name on the fogged window panes. She stands under the rain with an open mouth. She wears nothing but a thin linen of a cloth on summer afternoons. She sits at the edge of the cliff and watches the nature fill colors in springs. She likes rainbows.
She writes a diary. She writes a page every day and then tears it before she goes to sleep. Her diary is nothing but a book of torn pages. She is still as her shadow when she writes. She never confesses. She prays in whispers and sings in hums.
She is acutely sensitive to her surroundings. She falls in love with the sparks that fly around her. And when the world moves, she refuses to. Something freezes inside her. She walks ahead but her past lays frozen inside..