In the love of the imperfect

One kiss. One touch…And that was all it took for Myfanwy to fall in love.She loved him like the moth loved the flame. Everytime she saw him,her heart would heave,full to the brim with ardent love and adoration for her beloved. He’d look at her and her liquid moonlit eyes would shudder at the knowledge of her vulnerability in his heavy presence. Her cheeks would unwillingly simmer to crimson-hot and her long black tresses would carelessly fall on her pallor making her seem like a bud enclosed within the sepia. She’d feel a chill run down her spine everytime he drew close to her. An outbreak of ecstasy when he addressed her as his own personal brand of heroin.

x x

He smelt like oak and old musk. He felt her skin pulsating fervently under his touch .His chilly voice slithered down the hollows of her auditory chambers when he drew close to articulate her name in a whisper and the subsequent echo danced enlivened,touching upon every nerve cell and horripilating the tender surface of her skin.

xx

Her feelings subsumed into a pot of poetry and she’d brew them hot on every winter evening. She was drawn to him like the seagulls are drawn to the frothy waters of the sea.

xx

He’s gone.Evening fell and the waters and the gulls drew away from eachother. It was going to be a long,cold night. His voice wandered in her heart like the muffled sound of the sea among the listening pines.His touch,his kisses,his whispers…He wrenched them all away from her while her hapless heart was rendered too weak to even protest against his coldness….And like the moon,even on the cold nights,she sits on her porch,decked in beauty,in the love of the imperfect.

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4 thoughts on “In the love of the imperfect

  1. This is so beautiful! Perfectly captures the many layers of love, ever so beautifully and inexplicably stacked on one another. Never let the flame die out, Anoushka! Much love.

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