The rays of the sun, the superimposition of those seven beautiful colors, stroke my face, as gentle as a mother's touch, every morning. The coo of the pigeons, who generously perform the function of my faulty alarm, stirs me. My eyes fly open, almost involuntarily. The sun rays hit directly the mirror behind my bed, waking it from a satisfactory slumber. The mirror shines like a billion diamonds, all interwoven together by an invisible thread, making my room look brighter than it is.
The cobwebs on the highest part of the wall wake up,start dangling, and remind me I was supposed to remove them a month back. I turn a blind eye, letting them share my room for "just another day". My books take up half the bed. If I keep them where they belong, in the bookshelf, I'm darn sure they would walk away. and I'd never be able to find them again. I prefer to keep my books safe, in my bed, even if that means me sleeping on the floor. My desk, placed in a far corner, serves as a means of storage and stacking, it's original purpose rarely served.
As soon as I wake up, I look back longingly at my pillow. It seems to plead with me to return to it. Not being able to refuse my love of the night (Okay, my love of all times), I fall back on it. My pillow wants me as much as I do. I love it more than anything else in my room. I fall asleep before I close my eyes, and bid a silent goodbye to everything around me for "just another minute".
-Anusha Bhat
The cobwebs on the highest part of the wall wake up,start dangling, and remind me I was supposed to remove them a month back. I turn a blind eye, letting them share my room for "just another day". My books take up half the bed. If I keep them where they belong, in the bookshelf, I'm darn sure they would walk away. and I'd never be able to find them again. I prefer to keep my books safe, in my bed, even if that means me sleeping on the floor. My desk, placed in a far corner, serves as a means of storage and stacking, it's original purpose rarely served.
As soon as I wake up, I look back longingly at my pillow. It seems to plead with me to return to it. Not being able to refuse my love of the night (Okay, my love of all times), I fall back on it. My pillow wants me as much as I do. I love it more than anything else in my room. I fall asleep before I close my eyes, and bid a silent goodbye to everything around me for "just another minute".
-Anusha Bhat
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