Beautiful little poem. Unusually “concrete” (probably an old poetic term now) for short fiction, but the writing is clear, concise, sweet, while the wording is simple yet poignant.
Those were the days of our
premature adulthood when we used
to stay covered with people. Identity
crisis was slowly giving way to a
resplendent personality to grow and
stay with us for the rest of our lives.
Of all the faces that I came across
during those days, one stayed with
me. It is one of a kind, a face that
one cannot usually forget. I met him
accidentally at a gathering, on a
spring afternoon. His sharp eyes
narrated a million stories and I
reflected, seriousness can be
addictive too. He smiled at me and I
stood there, speechless. That day
witnessed an undying feeling. This
wasn’t as red as love, nor was it as
white as pure friendship. It was
something else, a deeper shade of
pink.
That meeting turned out to
be shorter than my
expectations as I had to
leave for another place but
our…
View original post 271 more words
Phil Slattery, Writer, Publisher 